


The Boy with the Broken Soul

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Cedric Diggory Dies, Confused Tom Riddle, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, Harry Potter is Not a Horcrux, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger is So Done, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, M/M, Meddling Albus Dumbledore, Mentioned Peter Pettigrew, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Not Really Character Death, POV Harry Potter, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Protective Ron Weasley, Protective Sirius Black, Redemption, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, SPEW | Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare, Sane Tom Riddle, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin Live, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Slow Burn, Supportive Hermione Granger, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tom Riddle is Bad at Feelings, Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort (Harry Potter) Dies, soul meld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: In which Cedric's good heart saves Harry and the world from beyond the grave by mending a shattered soulTom is forced to reevaluate his life only to find himself lackingAnd Harry just wants to do right by someone who deserved better through someone who deserved far worse.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Fawkes, Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore & Tom Riddle, Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Fawkes & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Tom Riddle, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Comments: 41
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t let go. The handle of the cup cut into his palm and his knuckles popped with the strain of holding so tightly to Cedric’s robes. The noise was deafening and there were people moving around him but, face pressed into the grass of the pitch, he could see none of it. Amos Diggory was moving closer, saying things with increasing worry and Harry's gut twisted. He didn't want to face this, couldn't face this.

Then it happened.

Cedric’s chest, which had been so still only a moment ago, lifted under his hand. Harry didn’t have even a split second to register this because, in a blinding flash, Harry’s scar burned as it never had before. He lost track of the world as his head was ripped in two, but the older boy too had gasped in a breath only to release it in a long, drawn out scream of agony. The twisted harmony of their suffering tore the night apart.

* * *

Harry woke, as he had so many times before, in the Hospital Wing. The curtains were drawn around his bed but late afternoon sunlight painted bright shapes into the material and burned his eyes. He grimaced and put a hand over them, giving himself one glorious moment of semidarkness.

Then a series of familiar sounds, far too loud, crashed through his ears as his friends noticed him.

Hermione jumped up from the squeaky chair beside him and parted the curtains to call, “He’s awake!”

Ron from his other side said, exasperated, “Give him a minute, Hermione, he’s not even said anything yet.”

Harry’s thoughts were still sluggish and slow, his tongue coated in the heavy bitterness of healing potions. He blinked his eyes open to find the world blurry and out of focus.

A smudge of red hair was leaning in, helpfully holding out something black and wiry that could only be Harry’s glasses. He levered himself up and pawed at the air. His depth perception was ruined by the tilting of the room and he found Ron’s elbow first.

“Take it easy, you’ve been out of it for three days, mate,” Ron said, taking Harry’s wrist and placing the glasses into his hand.

Harry jammed them on with a muttered thanks just as none other than Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather and the most wanted man in the country, shoved the curtain aside.

“Sirius, what are you doing,” Harry tried to shout, frantic. The words came as wheezing and then a hacking cough as air caught in his dry throat though.

Sirius dropped into Hermione’s vacated seat, looking far more concerned about Harry than himself. He snatched up the cup of water on the bedside table and pressed it into Harry’s hands. He drank gratefully, polishing off the glass in seconds.

Sirius took it from him and refilled it while Harry stared, bewildered, between him and everyone else in the room. Madam Pomfrey was hovering right over Sirius’s shoulder, for Merlin’s sake. None of them seemed at all bothered that an escaped convict was in their midst with absolutely no cloaking or disguise though.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Harry tried again, addressing his godfather in a low, hurried whisper.

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh that surprised Harry so much he jumped. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder with the widest grin Harry had ever seen on anyone. It took years off his face, bringing back some of that handsome youth Harry had glimpsed in pictures.

There was such a note of triumph in Sirius’s voice as he said, “As a free man, I have every right to see my godson.”

Harry’s head spun, both elated and horribly confused. “How,” he asked, stumbling over the word.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, eyes bright, when two disapproving throats cleared behind him. He glanced over at Hermione and Madam Pomfrey, who were both giving him disapproving looks.

He shrunk slightly under their heated glares, but still asked, genuinely perplexed, “What?”

“Perhaps that is a tale for another time, he’s only just woken up.” Harry had rarely heard the nurse sound so stern but he had the strange desire now to lay back, complicit to any demand. She could rival Professor McGonagall if she really put her mind to it.

Sirius did not seem to agree. He straightened with a snort, shaking his head. “He deserves to know what he went through did some good.”

“No, she’s right,” Hermione said, matching Pomfrey’s stern demeanor to a T. “Harry should be recovering, he doesn’t need to think about all that right now.”

“All what? What happened,” Harry demanded. Being spoken about as though he were some china pot was grating on his nerves.

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead,” Ron supplied, pointedly ignoring the look Hermione shot him. “The Aurors found him in the graveyard where the portkey took you, strangled by some weird, cursed hand.”

Harry did not know how to feel about that. He stared down at his arms, one of them still bandaged, and felt again a silver knife slicing him. Then the dark cemetery and a crowd of hooded figures flashed before Harry’s eyes, a high, cold laugh echoing in his ears.

“Did they find him, did they find Voldemort,” he asked, his heart in his throat.

There were flinches and a scandalized noise from Madam Pomfrey, but Harry ignored all of it, intent. Hermione and Ron exchanged a coded look before Ron said, with a hint of bitterness, “The Minster says the investigation’s still ongoing so we’ve not been getting much information about what they found besides Pettigrew’s body. There’s a lot of crazy rumors going around though. Did you,” Ron paused to swallow and glanced around like the man himself might be standing behind him before he asked, leaning in to almost whisper, “did you really see _him_?”

“We have to tell Dumbledore right away,” Harry was saying, kicking his blankets off. “He has his body back. He called his Death Eaters and he’s–”

“Mr. Potter, do NOT leave that bed,” Madam Pomfrey ordered. Her wand was out and the sheets were tucking themselves back in, holding down his legs. Harry struggled against them but they were stubbornly immovable.

“Calm down, Harry,” Sirius said, his hand a steady weight on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve just been through hell, let the adults take care of it for once. I’ll bring Dumbledore, you try to relax.”

Harry was torn. He needed to speak with the Headmaster, but he did not want Sirius to leave his side now that he had him here; this man had been snatched from him too often already. Sirius looked so assured though, exuding that confidence he was in control of things, that he would really be back. Harry finally gave up his fruitless battle with the bedclothes and fell back against the pillows in defeat. Sirius chuckled warmly at him as he stood and pushed past the curtains.

His even footsteps echoed away out of the Hospital Wing and each seemed to reverberate in Harry’s head at ten times the volume. He hadn’t realized how badly his head was aching. Then, Madam Pomfrey was holding out something, instructing him to drink. He swallowed it mechanically and the pain instantly left.

“That’s loads better, thanks,” he said, giving her a weak smile.

“Of course, dear,” she said, patting his wrist gently. ~~~~

“Cedric will be so glad to hear you’re alright. He’s been asking for you since he woke up,” Hermione said.

Harry frowned at her. Surely, he’d heard wrong. “Cedric who?”

“Diggory,” Ron said, as though it were obvious. “Blimey, Harry, you should know, you dragged him back.”

“That's not possible,” Harry said with a shake of his head, the words sticking a bit in his throat. “Cedric Diggory is dead.”

His friends exchanged bewildered looks.

“He’s having some memory problems, but I assure you, he is alive and well,” the nurse said with her best soothing bedside manner.

“That’s not possible,” Harry repeated, more angrily this time. “Wormtail used the killing curse on him, I saw it.”

“If it will bring you peace of mind, I’ll fetch him,” Madam Pomfrey said, departing through the gap Sirius had left in the curtain.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ron leaned in and demanded, “What do you mean ‘he’s dead’? I mean, yeah, he’s a little off, but he’s not–”

Hermione’s voice cut over Ron’s as she said, “You must have heard wrong. I mean, that isn’t the only green spell in the world.”

“I don’t know, that spell’s pretty unmistakable, Hermione,” Ron pointed out.

“It was a highly stressful situation. And what’s the other alternative? He’s a zombie?”

“I wouldn’t put it past old snake face to know how to do it.”

Harry had stopped listening ages ago as a silhouette darkened the curtain. A familiar boy appeared in the gap, grey eyes watching him from under dark hair.

“There’s not a spell like that. Reanimating the dead just keeps the body moving, it can’t simulate–” But the new arrival stopped Hermione in her tracks as he said, “Harry Potter, awake at last.”

Though it was certainly Cedric’s body acting, everything, from the way he carried himself to the cadence of his voice belonged to someone else, someone Harry had met years ago in the pages of a diary.

“Tom,” he asked, his lips numb.

Something behind the eyes that had once been Cedric’s became shuttered and his voice was more neutral as he said, “I’ll admit, I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure that’s not my name.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Harry spat, barely aware of what he was saying, anger burning like a fire through his veins as he felt for his wand at the bedside table. “So then, do you prefer Voldemort, the Dark Lord, or have you picked a new name to start your reign of terror?”

His friends were confused, a touch alarmed even, but the boy in Hufflepuff robes did not react, fingers wrapped subtly around his own wand as he watched Harry, careful.

“You seem a bit confused as I couldn’t possibly be. After all, I watched you blow that man’s body to pieces. For the second time,” Tom said, that cool, easy charm enough to fool most, but Harry could swear he heard bitterness and fury under those last words, like he couldn’t help reminding Harry of how much he had ruined his carefully laid plans yet again.

Harry’s hand finally found his wand and he whipped it forward, pointing it at Cedric’s chest. The false Hufflepuff’s wand was up and ready though, lightning quick. They stared each other down, Harry glaring while Tom kept up a maddening neutrality.

Ron and Hermione were speaking, unnerved by the hostility, but their words fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t want to cross wands with me,” Tom said, coolly, his words barely a whisper under theirs.

A smirk crossed Harry’s lips at that despite the cold sweat running down his spine. “Always seems to work out better for me than you.”

Hatred glowed in the depths of Cedric’s eyes, but none of the emotion showed on his handsome face. He took a careful, deliberate step back.

“There’s a lot I want to talk with you about, but perhaps we should continue this another time,” Tom said, then he was gone, his steps retreating into the castle.

* * *

His friends still looked skeptical, but they weren’t denouncing him on the spot as a loony. Though it likely helped that Ron had recently sworn off ever accusing him of lying and attention seeking.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but,” Hermione said and Harry tensed like he was waiting for an attack, “we do have to acknowledge the possibility that the both of you were hit with some kind of memory altering magic.”

"Having an evil dark wizard in your head would cause some 'memory problems,'" Ron said, using Madam Pomfrey's words with a dark chuckle.

“It really happened,” Harry insisted. “I don’t know how, but Voldemort is inside Cedric’s body.”

“Honestly, I just don’t like thinking about You-Know-Who possessing corpses whenever he feels like it,” Ron admitted with a shudder, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Just when you think that guy couldn’t get any creepier…”

Sirius appeared then, grim. “I’m sorry, Harry. Dumbledore says he’s too busy to come see you at the moment, but he says there's ‘nothing to be concerned about’.” His scowl painted his disagreement clear for all the world.

Harry’s skin was buzzing with indignity. “Voldemort is walking around in Cedric Diggory’s body, he can’t just ignore this!”

After his initial shock, a frown formed on Sirius’s brow and he scrutinized Harry for a moment. His words were cautious as he said, “As far as anyone can tell, the Diggory boy is suffering from memory loss.”

“I just talked to him, he good as admitted it!”

Sirius glanced at the other two. Hermione did not meet his eyes, still clearly undecided. Ron gave a shrug that could mean anything then caught Harry’s eye and added quickly, “He did seem a bit shifty.”

“He pulled a wand on me,” Harry waved his own for emphasis.

“You started that,” Hermione pointed out coolly. Harry shot her a glare, but she was unphased.

A dark look crossed Sirius’s face as he glanced toward the gap in the curtains. Harry got the distinct impression that his godfather, at least, was taking him seriously. When he turned back there was something almost dangerous about him. Still, he said, “I’m sure Dumbledore has it under control.”

“And if he doesn’t,” Harry demanded. It wouldn’t be the first time Dumbledore had missed Voldemort in the castle.

“You still have the map, don’t you?” Harry nodded to Sirius’s question, but before he could say anything, Sirius continued, “Good. Use it to keep yourselves as far away from him as possible until we get to the bottom of this. There’s a lot of strange things going on lately and, if what you’re saying is true, we have a new problem to worry about.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had taken part of Sirius’s advice. He had been watching the map obsessively for days, searching for proof. Now, creeping along the unpleasantly familiar pipes, he had it. No one else would know how to get into the Chamber, no one else had the power.

As soon as he’d seen the dot with the blurry name on the map turn into Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, he had used every secret passage he knew to get there. He’d popped out in front of Colin Creevey, scaring the boy half to death. He’d checked the map again just in time to see Cedric’s name disappear into the sink. He sent Colin to Dumbledore with a cryptic message and the boy had taken off running. Harry could only hope he was fast enough.

In hindsight, it had been a terrible idea to follow. It wasn’t as though there were anything down here of use; the Basilisk long dead. When he’d seen the sink beginning to slide back into place though, he hadn’t been thinking, he’d simply dove in. Now, he had to know what this imposter would do.

The steady drip of water and rats’ squeaks echoed in the distance, but otherwise it was eerily quiet down in the tunnels. Harry could hear his own heartbeat and breathing like thunder in his ears. Every dry crack of bone and skittering stone under his shoes was a gunshot in the dark.

The door to the Chamber was open and Harry crept through, keeping his wand at the ready. A soft hissing found Harry’s ears. As he ventured deeper, the dead serpent was easy to spot, shriveled and mostly bone, shining in the light of another wand. Cedric Diggory’s body was crouched beside the massive head, unmoving but for his mouth. Harry still hadn’t been noticed.

As soon as he was within range, Harry cried, “ _Expelliarmus_!”

Cedric’s wand flew off into the dark. The spell lighting the end of it cast wild shadows among the pillars before it faded away. The hissing stopped. Harry stayed several paces back but kept his wand trained on the body that once housed the fairest person he’d ever known.

“It’s over, Tom. You can’t use the Basilisk to hurt anyone and now Dumbledore knows who you are. He’ll be here any minute,” Harry said with all the authority he could muster.

“Dumbledore already knows,” Tom sounded so tired. He hadn’t bothered to rise from his crouch or turn his eyes away from the dead monster.

“What? But he hasn’t–”

“Hasn’t done anything? No. He’s a fool who believes in ‘second chances’.” He sneered the last words but even that was lackluster, empty of the venom Harry expected. Tom reached out to caress an exposed rib and asked, “Was this your doing then?”

“Second year,” Harry answered slowly, trying to wrap his head around this information.

“Wormtail did say the diary had been destroyed but I hadn’t actually believed you’d taken down the snake. Such a waste,” he paused, his palm smoothing along the bone. Harry could not see the expression on his face but there was something heavy about him. When Tom spoke again, his voice was odd, “Tell me Harry, what is this?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Harry said, tensing for something though they were the only ones in the Chamber and Tom had no wand.

"I used the Basilisk as a weapon more than fifty years ago and it was simply a tool then, nothing more. Yet now, with the beast dead before me…” As though of its own fruition, his free hand came up to clutch at the robes over his chest and he let out a trembling breath as though cold, though the Chamber was comfortably warm.

Harry took a cautious step closer, trying to make out the other boy’s face in the shadows his wand cast. The light glimmered back at him as something dropped from Tom’s face and hit the wet floor with a plop. It wasn’t until a second and third followed that Harry realized with a shock that they were tears. Tom Riddle was crying. Harry had never been so confused in his life.

He didn’t resemble a young Lord Voldemort at all in that moment, not the calloused, cold boy happy to watch and bring about the suffering of others. No, this was entirely Cedric Diggory, his shoulders shaking and his jaw tight against sound. Harry reached out for him without thinking. His fingers had barely touched the other boy’s shoulder when he slapped Harry’s hand away, glaring up at him with such fury.

“What have you done to me,” Tom demanded, anger and misery shredding his voice. Harry had not even begun to formulate an answer before Tom was stumbling to his feet and shouting, “I know it was you! It’s always you, ‘the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord’. You kept me from the stone, killed the weapon that was my birthright, twice destroyed my body, and now you’ve forced me into this defective vessel. _How?!_ You’re just some meddling child. How can someone so pathetic hold so much power over me?”

He was manic, tears still falling unnoticed from his eyes and words spitting across the distance like hurled spears. He yanked one side of his robes like he was straightening them but the action was too harsh and nearly pulled them off one shoulder.

It was all so pathetic it threw Harry off balance. He didn’t raise his wand in time as Tom lunged. The two boys went to the ground, Harry’s head cracking against the stone. He saw stars and felt fingers pulling his wand from his limp fingers. He didn’t understand what happened next, but Tom shouted in surprise and fury, his weight leaving Harry’s chest.

He blinked up at Tom as the older boy's head whipped to one side. Then he ran between the pillars and Harry remembered the other wand. He scrambled up onto his hands and knees, his head pounding in protest. His own wand was several feet to his left and he dove for it.

A jet of blue cut across his path, mere inches from his hand. Harry pulled back and turned to stare down the wand approaching out of the dark. Tom was smiling now, but it was not an expression that belonged anywhere on Cedric’s handsome face, twisted and unnatural.

He raised Cedric’s wand and Harry didn’t have time to duck out of the way, frozen, as Tom screamed, “ _Crucio_!”

But there was no pain. Instead, the wand buzzed angrily in Tom’s hand. He dropped it with a sharp cry, clutching at his arm. They watched, horrified and fascinated, as the ash wand burst apart like corn kernels exposed to heat, the silver unicorn hair curling and blackening. Then the pieces hissed softly and were still against the stone.

Harry recovered first, scooping up the pieces with care. The last of Cedric’s magic within hummed gently in his hand before fading away. With a pang of loss, Harry carefully tucked the ruined wand into the inner pocket of his robes, setting aside both it and the feelings clawing at his throat to be dealt with later.

Tom was still staring down at his hand where the wand had left an ugly, purple mark. He looked so confused, so lost. “Why,” he muttered to himself, his knuckles white against his wrist. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Cedric Diggory didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. His wand could never be used to hurt someone like that.” Harry wasn’t sure how he knew it but it felt like the truth.

Tom twisted Cedric’s face into a hateful thing. He reached again for the holly wand but was forced to step back by a blast of angry, orange sparks.

With a calm he didn’t feel, Harry picked up his wand and stood.

“I am Lord Voldemort,” Tom screamed at him, like it was a challenge.

Harry surveyed him for a moment and understanding washed over him. It was obvious now. “No, you’re not.” The words came out so matter of fact, so plain. Tom simply stared at him, speechless.

“It might not always seem like it, but Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” Harry continued, “and he’s right, things are different now, you’ve got a second chance. Don’t waste it the same way you did last time.”

A haunting and beautiful song echoed off the stones, heralding the arrival of Fawkes. The phoenix circled over their heads and clipped Tom in passing as he settled on Harry’s shoulder. That beautiful tail plumage hung over Harry’s back and he felt truly safe for the first time in ages. It sent exhaustion rolling through him and reminded him of his pounding head.

Fawkes flexed his claws, indicating it was time to go. Harry held out his hand to Tom. “Do you want a ride back?”

Tom gave him such a disgusted look. “I don’t need you, Dumbledore, or his stupid, ugly bird.”

Harry shrugged and glanced at Fawkes. With another cry, the phoenix took off.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was not at all surprised when Fawkes took them straight to Dumbledore’s office. The room was much the same as last time Harry had been in it, with its strange devices and portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, most sleeping in their frames.

Dumbledore had clearly been waiting for them. He was seated at his desk, hands clasped in front of him, hardly a care in the world.

“I must apologize, Harry. I should have met with you earlier, but, knowing you as I have, I thought it best for you to discover the truth for yourself.”

Harry was simply too tired for this. He fell into the chair across from Dumbledore. Fawkes settled on the arm of it and let Harry stroke a finger along his neck.

“What happened? It’s him, but he’s,” Harry was at a loss for how to describe it.

“I have a theory on that, but first, tell me, down in the chamber just now, did you, by chance, hear him making any strange noises?”

It seemed like an odd question. “Well, when I got there Tom was,” Harry started, but then he frowned, something clicking into place. “Hold on, that was Parseltongue, wasn’t it? Only I couldn’t understand it.”

“Yes, as I suspected, it would seem you can no longer understand the language of snakes. Incidentally, your scar has not hurt once since you woke in the Hospital Wing, correct?” Harry shook his head. “Why do you imagine that is?”

Harry took a moment to think it over, stroking absently at the bird beside him. He had been wondering how Voldemort, alive and well inside the school, had not been affecting his scar at all. There was only one thing he could think of but he couldn’t imagine how it had happened. “Somehow, I’m not connected to him anymore.”

Dumbledore nodded, a proud twinkle in his eye. “It would seem the part of himself that was sealed in you the night Voldemort killed your parents has returned to him.”

And so, Dumbledore told him about ripping souls and cursed objects, about desperation and evil, about Horcruxes. Harry could not even wrap his head around why someone would do something so horrible, not only to others to but to themselves.

Harry had stopped petting Fawkes, absorbed in putting all the pieces together, and the phoenix flew over to Dumbledore’s seat instead.

“So then, even broken, the soul can be put back together?” Harry raised a hand to his scar as he spoke. There was something comforting to think that it was truly his own now, not an extension of Voldemort. ~~~~

“The only way to reverse the process is to truly understand the weight of the horrible acts used to create the object, to feel remorse.”

Something wasn’t adding up. “But this is Voldemort we’re talking about, how is it possible he felt remorse that night?”

“I have it on good authority, from a secondary source, that something very peculiar happened when you fought Voldemort in the graveyard, after you broke the cage of light. Do you remember?”

Harry was sure he’d never forget the ordeal. He’d have nightmares for the rest of time. Other than surviving against all odds, he couldn’t think what else would be strange about _after_ he broke the connection. Still, he said, slowly, “The ghosts, or whatever they were, attacked him to give me time to run.”

“His victims did rush at him but then Voldemort’s body was destroyed and his wand shattered. How? Apparitions born from a spell like that could not manage such a feat. My theory then is that something of the wands’ connection must have stayed with you and, when you ran for the cup, it pulled him as well. You, with a soul fully intact and a body all your own, were stronger and he lost the fight against it. So, without a body once more, he reached out for the nearest vessel to hold his flayed soul.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harry said, rubbing at his head. It was still aching and all this information on top of his exhaustion was only making things worse. “But that still doesn’t explain how his soul repaired itself. Wouldn’t he just be angrier?”

“I believe that after being battered by the pure love of those protecting you, those he had so terribly wronged, to then inhabit the body of such a truly kind soul as Cedric Diggory changed him and, even if just for a moment, he felt it, true remorse.”

They had been talking about him all this time, but Harry had been holding off truly thinking about Cedric’s death. The reminder cut deep and Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out the wand fragments with trembling hands.

“Tom tried to use the Cruciatus curse and it backfired or something, but I feel like it was Cedric protecting me,” Harry explained, not caring if that sounded mad. Swallowing was difficult and his vision was beginning to blur.

Sadness fell on Dumbledore like a heavy robe, making the lines in his face more pronounced.

“Place that here.” Dumbledore waved a hand at the desk before him. Harry complied; each splintered piece set delicately upon the polished surface. Dumbledore examined it for a moment then looked up at Harry, tears falling from his blue eyes.

“I think this is the final proof of our theory. Though the boy himself is gone long before his time, a part of him lives on, still doing his best to help those he left behind.”

“We should find a way to honor him,” Harry said, his voice edging toward breaking.

Dumbledore nodded softly. He pulled out his wand and waved it over the pieces, murmuring a complicated spell. They glowed a bright silver and when he lowered his wand at last, they sparkled softly.

“These will need to be buried and, when his body too is laid to rest, the world will know what a hero they lost that day,” the headmaster explained softly.

“I’ll do it.” Harry didn’t want to let the broken wand out of his sight, needed to be the one to bring some peace to Cedric’s memory.

There was such gentleness in Dumbledore’s expression as he murmured, “If you’re sure. You may bury him here at Hogwarts, I’ll ensure the spot is never disturbed.”

Harry nodded, pushing up his glasses to rub tears from his eyes. It hurt so much.

“What are we going to do about Voldemort?”

“As you’ve said, he is no longer truly Voldemort and, if he proves to be what I think he has become, I intend to act as his teacher: to help him, guide him, and encourage him to lead a better life this time around.” At Harry’s mildly perplexed look, he continued, “He might still be dangerous, but he is just a boy again and I think we ought to follow Cedric’s good example. I never knew him to hold a grudge against anyone; he would be wary, certainly, but he would still extend a helping hand to a scared boy, hurt and discovering the world anew.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry knew he didn’t have to dig with his hands, but the work felt good and Cedric’s memory was worth a proper tribute, no shortcuts. The around the back of the Quidditch pitch might not be the most fitting place in the world, but it felt right to Harry. The burn in his muscles was a pleasant distraction and his hands went numb after a time, the soil hard and cold. He dug until his chest was nearly parallel to the ground every time he reached in to pull up another handful.

It began to rain as he pulled what was left of Cedric’s wand slowly from his cloak. Cupping them gently in his palms, he lay the sparkling pieces in the rough hole and arranged them as best he could.

He wiped the chilly rain from his face, finding the water on his cheeks warm and salty. He ignored this as he pushed the little mound of dirt on top of the wand, each handful a horrible weight in his stomach.

He sat back at last and found himself hollow. Cedric deserved better, a procession attended by the whole of Hogwarts, speeches made in his honor, and an award to his name. He would not receive that though, not now at least, because no one believed he was dead.

Harry didn’t notice that the rain was no longer beating on his head and back until a wand appeared next to him, pointing at the uneven mound of earth.

“ _Recordatus_ ,” Hermione said. Harry watched, numb, as a plaque appeared with Cedric’s name on it.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, his voice hushed and uneven.

“Of course, Harry. I just wish there was more I could do.”

She crouched down beside Harry and wrapped her arms around him. He could feel his insides crumbling to dust.

She had conjured a massive, black umbrella that easily covered them both and a jar of bluebell flames hung from the handle, bumping lightly against his back. He could feel none of its warmth.

“This is wrong,” Harry said through a tight throat.

“I know,” Hermione said, rubbing at his back with her free hand. “You must feel awful.”

That didn’t even begin to describe it. “ _He_ shouldn’t be walking around in Cedric’s skin. It should be him who’s gone forever.”

Hermione hummed in soothing agreement. “It’s not fair.”

Harry wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but Hermione did not waver, comforting and present. Maybe he had simply been through too much to take anymore and this was his surrender, but something about the reassuring weight of his friend’s arms made everything easier. It still hurt in a constant ache, grief and guilt in equal measure, but somehow, he knew, as he had not before Hermione had arrived, he would walk away from this moment, a little more broken but far from beaten.

Hermione was the first to notice someone approaching. Harry lifted his head to follow her eyes. Ron’s fiery red hair stood out in the grey gloom, his shoes squishing in the muddy grass.

“I’ve been looking for you two for ages. What are,” but Ron stopped when he caught sight of the plaque. Harry tensed for a reprimand or some soft reminder, laced with pity, that Cedric’s body was up and about, but instead Ron’s face fell and he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were burying him today?”

Harry had told them of his and Dumbledore’s conversation, but he hadn’t really thought they understood. Now, some of the weight lessened on Harry’s shoulders. Ron and Hermione believed him. He and Dumbledore weren’t the only one who knew the truth, who mourned Cedric Diggory.

Hermione stood, her mouth opening like she was going to explain, but the words failed her. Ron gave her a careless shake of the head and turned his focus on Harry. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry, mate. No one deserves to go out like that but especially not a decent bloke like Diggory.”

Ron reached down, grabbed his arm, and pulled Harry to his feet. “Come on, dinner’s almost over and you’re soaked.” Ron wasn’t much better himself, but Harry didn’t point it out, content enough to walk shoulder to shoulder under the umbrella with his best friends.

As they left the pitch behind, Harry glanced back and stopped dead in his tracks. The plaque and the mound were both gone, the ground smooth once more. He started to race back, panicked, certain he was looking at the right spot. He was two steps away when it appeared again. Confused, he stopped, stepped back, and watched the spot vanish.

“That must be Dumbledore’s doing. It can only be seen from up close,” Hermione said as she caught back up with him, shielding him from the rain once more.

“Blimey, Harry, what’d you do to your hands,” Ron asked.

Harry followed his eyes down and saw that there was blood mixing with the water falling from his fingers. His nails were a mess, ripped and torn, at least two missing entirely. Then he noticed for the first time how badly they stung. He grimaced down at them.

Hermione laid a gentle hand on his arm. “We’ll take you to the Hospital Wing and bring you some food.”

“Can’t you fix that,” Ron asked, bewildered.

Hermione gave him the impatient look she reserved only for when he was being particularly dense. Ron’s eyes widened in understanding. He opened his mouth and shut it twice.

“The Hospital Wing sounds nice,” Harry agreed, taking the responsibility of forming a coherent response off Ron. Any excuse not to walk into the Great Hall right now was a blessing.


	5. Summer

“The Ministry’s official story is that Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr. were deranged Death Eaters conspiring to bring back their master using you. They didn't account for Cedric though and you two were hit with a modified Confundus Charm while escaping. Then, the Aurors showed up, Peter was killed in the struggle, and Fudge and his people apprehended Barty Crouch Jr. as he was trying to kill the real Moody.” ~~~~

Harry let Sirius finish his explanation before he said, “But that’s not what happened!”

“That’s not what matters to them, Harry. Fudge wants to look at least halfway competent and that story is much neater than any truth the evidence is trying to tell them. They’re also pinning almost every Ministry oversight in the last fourteen years on these two working in the background." Sirius shook his head at that last.

“And what are they planning to do about Tom? He might be different now, but he’s still dangerous. We can’t just let him–”

“We’re not. The Ministry might be ready to declare you mad, but Dumbledore believes you. The Order has round the clock shifts keeping an eye on him; we won’t let anything happen.”

Harry straightened up at that. “I want a watch too.”

“Absolutely not. You’re going to be his first target if something goes wrong, we’re not risking it.”

“So, I’m supposed to just sit around and let all of you risk your lives for me?”

“We’re not doing it ‘for you’, so you can drop that right now; everyone in the Order has people to protect.”

Harry deflated, mildly ashamed but still frustrated. “I should be part of all this, not stuck with the Dursleys all summer.”

“You’re not going to be,” Sirius said, a massive grin was spreading across his face. “You’re coming with me on holiday. We’re going to make up for all the time we’ve missed.”

Harry didn't dare believe it. “Shouldn’t you be keeping a watch too?”

“Of course, I’m to do my duty as godfather and watch over you, keep you out of too much trouble and all.” Sirius winked at him. He had clearly been waiting to drop this news for some time.

A glowing excitement was threatening to burst Harry’s chest and he finally let a smile break loose on his face. This was going to be the best summer of his life.

* * *

Severus was not happy to be doing this task, but they had precious few ways to test the newly reborn Dark Lord without risking innocents. If all went well, this might be his last task as Dumbledore’s spy.

The Dark Lord had no wand but still he had shaken his tail and was stalking Severus through the night, relentless. He had always done such truly impressive things with magic though and his singular focus was elemental.

Finally, cornered in a quiet London back alley, Severus whirled on him with his wand raised as though he’d only just noticed him. Cedric Diggory stared back, though the cold, unfeeling focus in his gaze was not one he had ever seen from the boy.

Severus forced his posture to relax and lowered his wand to the street, acting the fool. “Mr. Diggory, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You certainly did not make it easy to find you, Severus. It would almost seem you’ve been running from me.” A miasma of dark magic swirled around him like a threat, he the eye of a terrible storm.

“I’ll admit, I do what I can to avoid students outside Hogwarts, but I assure you, it isn’t personal.”

“No need to play coy, Severus, we are both aware you did not answer my call in the graveyard.”

“I apologize, Mr. Diggory, but I don’t know what you mean.”

The boy’s face twisted in annoyance. “Stop calling me that.”

“It has been good enough these last six years, but, by all means, what would you prefer I call you?”

He stare was nonplussed for a moment, nearly in shock. “You know who I am; you have sworn yourself to me.” He held out his hand in an unpleasantly familiar gesture. “Let me prove it.”

Severus raised an imperious eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do?”

“Give me your arm and you will know.”

Severus held back, watching the reaction to this small act of defiance. The Dark Lord’s patience did not last even a moment, he grabbed Severus’s wrist in a violent motion and yanked up his sleeve. Severus could have attacked or stopped him, his wand still at his side, but he allowed this as though humoring the boy.

He took no notice, his fingers pressing hard into the mark. They both held their breath but it gave little more than a twinge.

In the same instant, they both noticed the odd coloring, bending their heads closer to look. The mark was patchy, there were spots of red and black, some faded some clear, and even a few lines that looked little more than ordinary scar tissue.

The magic that had been hovering, ready, around the boy’s body suddenly jumped into action. It was a reflexive spell, impressive in its power but not refined enough to be truly threatening. Severus yanked his arm back and swept it aside with a wave of his wand.

The boy’s hands had begun to shake as he stared uncomprehendingly at the now safely covered mark. “I don’t understand.”

Severus’s lip curled. “Then allow me to help you; you are not the Dark Lord any longer.”

The boy’s head shot up, feverish. “So you _do_ know who I was– who I _am_! Of course you do, you fought at my side; you were my most loyal.”

Decades of built up disgust finally rolled off Severus’s tongue and nothing had ever tasted so sweet as this truth, “You forever gave my loyalty to Dumbledore the moment you decided to attack Lily Evans.” A grin had never felt more fitting on his face. “I am glad to see you brought low by her son yet again.”

Before the once Dark Lord had done more than blink in shock, Severus disapparated.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and Sirius were visiting the Burrow for a few days before the start of term. Not a one of them expected Mr. and Mrs. Diggory to stop by for a visit.

As he had the last time he had seen them, Harry was suddenly choking on guilt and grief. Their son was dead and it was Harry's fault and he couldn't tell them.

Mrs. Weasley shooed her children and Harry out to the garden with some excuse. Harry was last though however and, before he had even stepped foot out the door, Mrs. Diggory was calling to him, “Harry, do you mind if we have a quick talk?”

Harry tried to think of some excuse to get away, but Mrs. Diggory had him cornered with her genuine, open face. Sirius and Mrs. Weasley exchanged looks behind the amiably chatting Mr. Diggory and Mr. Weasley, but did not intervene.

Harry was stuck so he just said, “Yeah, alright.”

She lead the way into the living room and Harry noticed Sirius lean casually against the divide between kitchen and living room, his hand in his coat. Ron’s face was yanked down under the window from where he’d been peering over the sill outside, eyeing Mrs. Diggory with great suspicion. Mrs. Weasley moved the pile of fabrics she had pulled out earlier and seemed to be engaged in the conversation with Mr. Diggory as she waved her wand over them, but there was something a bit too stiff in her hand movements.

Trying to feel comforted rather than annoyed by all this, Harry sat down beside Mrs. Diggory. She really did not seem like someone who warranted such precautions. At the moment, she just looked tired. He couldn’t imagine what she had been going through.

"First, I have to thank you again for bringing our Cedric back to us.” She took a breath and her voice was more stern as she said, “But I do have one request. Please, don't call him Tom anymore. He might not remember that well anymore, but he _is_ still our Cedric. Our darling boy.

“I'll admit, he is a bit different these days and at first…" There was a hint of fear to her eyes for the briefest of moments and he knew she had seen something of Voldemort within him. But that look cleared almost as quickly as it had come. “But he's ever so gentle with everything he touches. I even saw him holding a snake the other day and releasing it back into the fields."

Harry's throat tightened. He couldn't tell her that her son was not who she thought he was, that he whispered Parseltongue among her begonias.

She was still talking, her voice soft, "You know, he always did find the garden calming, he’s out there a lot these days. Even the other night he was there, woken by nightmares, but all he would say was that he was sorry that he’s not who I want him to be and that he might never be the son I remember. Like any of that really matters, like I love him any less for it." Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. "He's still my sweet Cedric.”

The words were falling fast out of Harry’s mouth and he was helpless to stop them, "I'm so sorry he was there. I said we should take the cup together. It's my fault. If I hadn’t–"

She hushed him gently, her hand bridging the distance between them to settle on his. "It's not your fault. He made his own choices and you got out alive. That's what matters."

"But Cedric," he started to say started to protest her kindness but she shook her head, "is with us because you brought him back. I will never stop being grateful for that."

That gratitude hurt worse than any curse. Then she pulled him gently into her arms. He wasn't sure what to do about it. This was a person he had wronged, someone he was lying to, but she hugged him with everything she had as though he were her own son, that genuine love pouring off of her even though they had only met twice before.

"You probably get nightmares too, don't you? Such a dreadful thing that happened and to such good people."

Harry’s eyes were burning and he was shaking. His guilt was a raging, angry beast in his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from her for a long moment. Finally, he forced himself back to some semblance of composure and moved back as far as the armrest would allow, wiping his face dry.

“I just wish I could have saved him.”

She nodded, her eyes dropping for a moment. “We all wish we had done more, but neither of us can change the past. If I can make one selfish request though, please, help him in the future, if you can. He's still trying to figure everything out and I worry sometimes that he'll get lost. But if he has someone like you is there, well, maybe it will all turn out alright.”

Harry could do nothing against a mother's plea. He nodded and swallowed hard, trying to find his voice.

"I'll try," it was all he could give her.

It was enough. She smiled at him, the warmth there scalding.

Mr. Diggory appeared in the living room before Harry had to work past the lump growing anew in his throat. “We should be going, darling. Cedric will be expecting us.”

“Of course, dear.” She cupped Harry’s cheek. “Do take care, Harry.”

Then they were gone, leaving a tangled mess of thorns in Harry’s chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry did not expect to see the Diggory family at the train station. He’d taken a detour to the bathroom on the muggle side and saw them through the crowd.

Cedric’s parents seemed to be in something of a hurry to leave but were speaking to the person parading as their son with such pride and love shining in their eyes. Harry watched, partly hidden behind a pillar. Tom was a little stiff but he smiled warmly back at them, waving them off to wherever they were meant to be.

It was when he made to turn and Cedric’s mother threw her arms around him that his expression faltered. It was only a flash, a brief moment before Tom buried his face in her hair, but Harry had never seen someone look so vulnerable. As he gently pushed her back, Mr. Diggory took his wife's place, clapping him on the back. Tom squeezed him tight for just a second then let go as though expecting to be burned any second.

Mr. Diggory cupped his face, saying a few words and then chuckling to himself. Tom pulled away and waved him off with a laugh. Cedric’s parents left with a final good bye, turning at the door to watch their son’s back disappear into the station. It was strangely heartbreaking.

Harry made his way through the crowd quickly, pushing to Tom’s side. He was holding a carefully blank expression but Cedric’s was not a face that hid emotions well. There was something in the contradiction of the somber angle of his eyebrows and the contented turn of his lip.

“Have a good summer then,” Harry asked casually, as though they were old friends.

Tom glanced at him then away, like he really couldn’t be bothered, and said, “I suspect you’d know, what with Dumbledore’s wretched Order hounding my every step.”

That they had been, every hour of every day for months. They found little of note until the night before.

Kingsley had come in from his watch to report that Tom had performed a complicated series of spells to protect the house of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. The Order had been stumped as to why. Tom would be staying there only one night more, as his deal with Dumbledore said he was to graduate and, thus, the protection would do nothing for him personally. Harry was now certain he had an answer, but there was only one way to tell for sure.

“How are you liking the Diggorys?”

Tom laughed unkindly, as though the whole topic were far beneath him. “Amos Diggory is a pathetic man who never accomplished anything living through his son. His wife is little better, a simpering little woman with no ambition but to see her family _happy_.” He said the last word like it was some kind of disease.

Harry might have believed him, with the disaffected tone and all he knew of Tom Riddle before, had he not seen it for himself.

“But you care about them.”

Tom’s eyes darted toward him, narrowed, and his fingers twitched like he might reach for his wand. Both of them stopped as though mirrored. The air between them grew heavier and heavier. Though they were in one of the more crowded areas of the station, there was an ever-widening space around them. Harry did not back down, steadily meeting Tom’s searching gaze.

Finally, Tom looked away from Harry again as though nothing had happened. The whole station drew a relieved breath, though no one could say why, and travelers were brushing against them once more.

“They’re… not unlikable,” Tom allowed. There was something too controlled about his voice, emotions bubbling up he wasn’t used to hiding.

They walked for a moment in silence before Tom asked, sounding tired, “Is there something you wanted?”

“We're going the same direction, I just thought it might be nice to catch up.”

“Is that so? I suppose your summer was ‘good’.” Tom sounded deeply bored, as though Harry's life was too predictable and mundane to hold his interest.

“I really have you to thank for that, actually,” Harry said with a hint of a depreciating laugh in his tone.

This piqued Tom's interest somewhat, though he was still doing his best attempt at cool neutrality. One eyebrow rose, inquisitive, and Harry answered, “If that hand you gave Wormtail hadn't strangled him, we might never have cleared Sirius’s name.”

Tom laughed but it wasn’t the friendly, false laugh he put on for others; Voldemort’s laugh in Cedric’s throat might not be as high as it once was, but it was still cold. “It could be argued that was more your doing than my own.”

At Harry’s confused frown, he continued, “I knew what kind of spineless man Peter Pettigrew was, so I cursed that hand. If he ever were to show disloyalty or weakness in his duties, it would ensure he never got another chance. A traitor’s death for a traitor, you might say. Watching you defeat me for a second time likely shook his faith that mine was the winning side. Though he’s certainly not alone in that.” There was such bitterness on his tongue at that last, glaring at nothing in front of him.

He cleared the expression, though the discontent remained, as he continued, more to himself than Harry, “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to ask because at that moment, Ron elbowed his way through the crowd. “There you are, Harry. Everyone’s been looking,” but he stopped speaking when he caught sight of the boy at Harry’s side.

He gave Tom the look he usually reserved only for Malfoy and started to ask, his tone unkind, “The hell are you doing with this bloody rubbish–” but his mother spoke over him from deeper in the crowd, furious, “Ronald! I said, get back here and help your sister.”

“But, Mum,” he started to protest but cowered under her glower even from a distance.

“You okay there, Harry,” Mr. Weasley asked, sliding up beside his son and eyeing Tom with a carefully concealed wariness.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry said, a touch of annoyance finding its way into his tone. He hated being treated like he needed a personal guard at all hours. He hadn’t exactly been useless against Voldemort so far.

“Come on, mate. We saved you a seat,” Ron was saying, waving for Harry to follow as he began marching off to fulfill his mother’s bidding. She had called for him again and Harry would rather face another dragon than the danger in her tone.

“Good morning, Mr. Weasley,” Tom greeted with a casual, polite air. “I hear things are going well for you in the department.”

“Quite, thank you,” Mr. Weasley said, his tone clipped but polite.

“Harry,” Sirius said, slinging an arm over his shoulder and dragging him bodily away from Tom’s side. “We’re not on the continent anymore, you can’t just run off with whomever you like.”

Harry’s face warmed at the reminder of the pretty girl in Germany he’d thought had been asking him directions. The snog had come as quite the shock. “It’s nothing like that,” Harry protested.

“I know it wasn’t,” Sirius said, dropping the joking tone as they moved further into the crowd and out of earshot, something darker taking its place. “You were just having a casual chat with one of the most dangerous Dark Wizards of the age. Do you have any idea what could have happened just now?”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“That’s what concerns me,” Sirius muttered to himself. He stopped them and put his hands on his godson’s shoulders, staring him down. “You have to promise me you’ll steer clear of him this year.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have a death wish,” Harry assured him, fighting down an eye roll.

Sirius heaved a defeated sigh. “I know that, but you’re too like James, always getting into trouble. Should have had you spend more time with Moony this summer, his good sense might have rubbed off on you.”

“He hangs out with you; it can’t be that good.” Harry shot him a grin.

Sirius barked out a laugh. The warning whistle blew.

“What are you doing, Harry? The train’s about to leave,” Hermione called. She and the Weasley children were leaning out of the train windows to say their final goodbyes. The station was emptying rapidly as eleven o’clock drew near. Tom was nowhere in sight.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder one last time as they neared the train. “Promise me?”

“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t,” Harry swore.

Sirius laughed again. “I guess that’ll do. Get going, I’ll see you at the holidays.”

They hugged and Harry suddenly didn’t want to let go, but the final whistle was blowing. Reluctantly, he jumped on and stuck his head out the window beside Ron’s. He watched his godfather waving beside Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned and they were out of sight.


	8. Chapter 8

It did not take long for Harry to do exactly as Sirius had warned him not to. To be fair, it hadn’t been he who sought out a meeting. Tom lead Harry around the castle, out of view of the lawn and greenhouses. There was no one around and the unseasonably chill evening was eerily quiet.

Harry was more impatient than nervous about this suddenly clandestine meeting and there was a bit of a snap to his voice as he said, “Just spit it out already. What is it you want, Tom?”

Tom finally stopped and turned to face him. The sadistic expression twisting Cedric’s face into was deeply unsettling. Harry’s hand froze on the way to his wand though, finding Tom’s already inches from his chest.

His wand flew into Tom’s free hand and he tossed it off into the grass. “I feel I owe you this now I’ve a proper wand. Crucio.”

Harry flinched, bracing himself for the scorching pain. Nothing happened. They both stared, nonplussed. Tom flicked the wand with such authority and yelled, louder, “Crucio!”

Again, nothing. Tom was muttering under his breath, frowning at the wand. Then Harry saw it. Tom’s arm was turning an ashy grey. Flecks of darker color began to appear and the skin was taking on an odd texture.

“Uhm, Tom,” Harry said, not sure how exactly to draw his attention to what was happening.

He followed Harry’s eyes, impatient, only to freeze. It was clearly less of a shock to him than it was to Harry though. Cedric’s face warped into something loathsome.

“You will obey me,” Tom said, with such a dark threat in the words that a shiver ran down Harry’s spine. All of Tom’s attention was riveted to the wand though. He pointed it with twice the determination and said the spell again, his fury sparking through the air like a heat wave.

Still, the wand did nothing and the odd coloring on his arm grew, nearly touching his elbow. It was becoming veined and Harry finally recognized it from the Dursley’s kitchen, granite. His eyes widened. Though his wand was turning him to stone, Tom was not done.

“You think you can scare me? I am your master,” Tom hissed, reckless, and it took Harry a stunned second to realize he was calling a wand on its bluff. Clearly not caring how far off his rocker he sounded, Tom shouted the curse once more. The transfiguration crawled up Tom’s skin until half his upper arm was engulfed.

Harry took a step forward, reaching out for him. “That’s enough. It isn’t worth it.”

Tom stepped back, glaring. The livid hatred was so wrong on Cedric’s face that Harry’s stomach turned.

Still, Harry swallowed it and forced himself to sound calm and collected, “If that reaches your heart, they might not be able to bring you back.”

He didn’t know if that were true or not but it sounded reasonable enough and it gave Tom pause. He glanced down at his arm, tracking the progress of the mutated spell. It was not difficult to figure; one more attempt and it would reach something vital. For a second, his face was nothing but fear. Then the anger was back, fiery as it had ever been.

“You stupid wand,” he screamed, beating his stone hand against the castle wall. There was feverish light in his eyes and Harry jumped forward, catching his limb before he could do any lasting damage.

The rough granite seemed to retreat under his fingers, but Tom was still thrashing, incensed. Harry was not strong enough to restrain a seventh year on his own like this, so he did the next best thing. He kicked off the wall into Tom’s chest and sent the two of them sprawling in the grass.

Tom was still yelling at the wand, “I am the greatest Dark Lord who ever lived, you will obey me!”

Harry wasted no time. He climbed on top of Tom and bore his weight down, using something he’d watched Dudley do a hundred times to immobilize other boys. Harry might not have been as heavy as his cousin but Tom was not nearly so slippery as Harry.

“Have you actually lost your mind?”

“I’m going to kill that old,” was all Tom managed to spit out before he screamed in agony.

Harry rolled off, staring down at Tom’s hand, no longer stone but instead sporting an impressive burn wheel. Tom sat up and clutched it to his chest, wand abandoned in the dirt. There were tears shining in his eyes, betrayal and misery warring on Cedric’s face.

An unease was creeping up Harry’s spine. “Tom, are you alright?”

Tom didn’t even seem to hear him, his expression becoming strained, like he was holding back something trying to claw its way out of his chest. Harry grabbed his shoulder and he turned his eyes in Harry’s direction but otherwise did not react. He didn’t even seem to be seeing anything in front of him.

“I didn’t understand,” Tom’s words were barely a sound out of his lips.

“Understand what?”

Tom stood abruptly and knocked Harry’s hand aside. His eyes were sharp again and grazed over Harry dismissively. “We’re done here.”

He snatched up his wand and marched away before Harry had gotten a chance to get up or say anything more.

His mind was still spinning when he ran into Ron and Hermione just outside the Great Hall. They weren’t happy to hear that he’d run off with Tom and not bothered to tell anyone, but they were morbidly fascinated by the wand’s strange reaction.

“That sounds kind of like your wand second year, Ron.”

“Yeah, but my wand was broken. Once a wand chooses a wizard, they don’t usually spit magic back.”

Hermione hummed in thought. “I’ve read about spells rebounding, but those are more a blast of dangerous magic. From what you said, Harry, it sounded slower and far too sophisticated.”

Tom walked into the Great Hall as the second course appeared, looking distinctly more dignified than last Harry had seen him. He ignored his friends telling him not to and crossed the hall.

“Tom.”

His eyes slid over Harry as though he had hardly noticed him. He didn’t get more than a step more toward the Hufflepuff table before Harry had grabbed his arm.

“What happened with your wand out there?”

Tom’s distain was far less obvious than he clearly wanted to make it as he said, coolly, “It’s none of your concern.”

A shout came from the Hufflepuff table, “Cedric, you alright over there?” Several of his housemates were giving Harry dirty looks and Cedric’s friends had stood to intervene.

Harry ignored them. “You tried to curse me and it backfired. Why?”

A flash of emotion showed in Tom’s eyes as he glanced up at the head table, over to the Hufflepuffs, and then shot a warning glare at Harry. Harry met it resolutely, not backing down.

“It’s just stubborn,” he hissed back, “One day it will do as I say, it’s only a matter of time.”

Harry had the strangest feeling, as Tom yanked his arm away and strode off, that he didn’t really believe that.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry did not see a lot of Tom in the next few weeks. This was not for lack of trying, but they were in different houses and years so their schedules rarely lined up. Anytime Harry did manage to spot him between classes, Tom was surrounded by an honor guard.

The whole of Hufflepuff house had taken it upon themselves to prevent Harry’s interference, or so Hermione reported. When any of them saw him coming, even if Tom wasn’t around, they would close ranks. He began taking alternative routes to class to avoid their glares.

Instead he kept a weather eye on the map. Whenever he saw Tom off by himself, he would venture off to see what the once Dark Lord was up to. He had still yet to catch him doing anything untoward and, somehow, there always seemed to be someone to pull Tom away from any potential conversation Harry might have confronted him with.

It wasn't as though he had all the time in the world to go chasing after Tom though. Their OWLs were coming up and their teachers seemed to be making up for this by giving them extra assignments. Most free hours found the Gryffindor fifth years locked away in some corner desperately trying to keep up.

He caught sight of Tom reading in an alcove and was too focused trying to figure out what the book was to see somebody else walking towards him, equally as careless.

They smacked into each other and he noticed several things in quick succession, the Ravenclaw girl was soft and smelled pleasantly flowery but her slight build hid a not insignificant amount of wiry muscle. It was Cho. She managed to keep her feet but Harry stumbled and would have fallen had he not hit the wall beside him.

"Oh, Harry, hi. I didn't see you there. Are you all right?"

Harry picked himself off the wall and tried to play it off cool but somehow managed to step on the edge of his robes and nearly tripped himself. She took a steadying hold of his arm and he wasn't sure whether to feel glad about that or horribly embarrassed.

"Cho, hey. Running into you like this, crazy." He cringed at his own choppy, nervous words, but she giggled prettily all the same.

Her eyes found something low to one side to look at, a slight flush on her face as she said, "I'm glad to see you actually. I wanted to ask you something. There's a Hogsmeade trip next month I was thinking maybe we could go together?"

Harry was slightly nonplussed by the invitation but still said, "Yeah, I'm sure Ron and Hermione won't mind. We were going to–"

She's fiddled nervously with her robes and looked up at him through her lashes, striking him dumb. "Actually, I was thinking just you and me…"

Oh.

"As boyfriend and girlfriend."

_Oh._

Tripping over his tongue a bit, Harry said, "Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great."

She glanced at something over his shoulder for a second and then smiled brilliantly at him. "I'll see you later then," and she kissed him on the cheek.

She was gone before he'd gotten his brain back to fully functioning. Tom was no longer in the alcove.

"Are you and Cho stalking Not-So-You-Know-Who together," Ginny asked, falling onto the couch beside her brother.

Harry was taken aback. "We're not stalking anyone, together or otherwise."

Clearly not convinced, Ginny said, "You ran into her twice while off trying to find him and then the two of you just happen to spend most of your date snogging in the stands during the Hufflepuff team’s practice?"

“That is an awful lot of coincidences, mate,” Ron agreed, giving him a sideways look.

“It’s pathetic, honestly. It’s clear the two of you are far more interested in him than each other,” Hermione said, sitting down hard beside Harry. She had a short fuse these days, pushing herself harder than ever in classes and, indeed, despite having finished all her homework, Hermione pulled out a book.

Harry was getting annoyed by their implications. “What are you all trying to say exactly?”

“Let’s do a quick test,” Ron said, as though Harry were being particularly thick, “Who do you think about more in a day, him or your girlfriend?”

Immediately on the defensive, Harry tried to formulate an answer that didn’t sound more incriminating. It wasn’t as though it was unusual to think about your worst enemy. He used to do that with Malfoy too.

Admittedly, Malfoy had been on the edges of his radar of late, something he seemed to be taking out on Ron with a vengeance as the number of “Weasley is our King” badges doubling as the weeks went on. They now sang that stupid song whenever pressed and finished with a rousing call of “Potter stinks!”

“Think about it, Harry. You spent all afternoon with her and what did you two even talk about,” Hermione asked, propping her charms book up on her knee.

“Just normal stuff.” In all honesty, he couldn’t recall.

“Exactly.” Hermione would usually have been at least a little smug about that, but she was clearly too tired and exasperated.

“Look, we’ve only been together a week or two, we’re still figuring it out.”

Ginny was evaluating him carefully and asked, “I know you had a crush on her last year, but do you even like her anymore?”

“I do,” Harry wasn’t sure if it was the unshakable certainty in her voice or if he actually was lying, but it sounded more defensive than honest, even in his own ears.

As though Harry hadn’t been saying anything at all, a frown was taking over Ron’s face and he said, "I don't get it. We all know why Harry is keeping an eye on that untrustworthy snake, but what is she doing following him too? They broke up ages ago."

Ginny rolled her eyes "It's obvious she still likes Cedric and she's using Harry to try and make him jealous."

A pit was developing in Harry’s stomach.

“The whole thing is ridiculous anyway; it’s clear he doesn’t care at all,” Hermione said, scribbling a note.

“Yeah, he’s more interested in Quidditch these days than people,” Ginny agreed.

Tom had been pushing the Hufflepuff team harder than almost any other. The team was notorious for being laidback and emphasizing having fun with the sport over winning, but Tom’s regimented training schedule easily rivaled any of Oliver Wood’s.

At the mention of Quidditch, Ron went a bit green but shook it and turned to look at Harry. “It is weird. Do you think he’s trying to get at you somehow with that? Like, knock you off your broom during the game, make it look like an accident?”

They’d had this conversation already, but Angelina had ordered them all to encourage Ron’s tirades as he played fractionally better if he was on the warpath against Tom. It wasn’t helping much, but it was something.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. I’d never heard anything about Voldemort playing Quidditch, but I guess an army’s not that different from a team.”

“Do you think that’s why he had them switch the match? So he’d get first shot at you before Malfoy?”

“Not this again, Ron.” Hermione was less on board letting him go off on his conspiracy. Though, admittedly, the decision to change their first match opponents from Slytherin to Hufflepuff was ill justified.

“I’ll bet it’s impossible to say no to that useless, pretty boy face while You-Know-Who’s silver tongue is licking at your ears,” Ron continued as though she hadn't spoken.

Ginny was clearly bored of her brother and looked to Harry instead. “So, how was it anyway? Snogging with Cho?”

Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure he should be talking to Ron's sister about this, but his two friends were now snapping at each other and he wanted to talk to someone about it. He had rather mixed feelings about the whole afternoon.

“Not really what I expected? I mean, it was nice, I guess, but it was weird too.”

She tilted her head at him. “Weird how?”

He felt his face turning tomato red. "I mean there was a lot of people around looking at us and I didn't really know what I was doing with my hands or anything."

She barely suppressed a giggle. “Would you do it again?”

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Not in the stands, for sure. It would probably be better if we were somewhere private, right?”

Ginny was giving him a look that was just a bit too understanding, like she possessed some unwritten knowledge about all of this he had yet to grasp. She patted his hand. "I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another."


	10. Chapter 10

The day of the match, Harry discovered the Hufflepuff team in a most perplexing position. They were in pairs blocking all entrances for spectators and checking them, collecting "Weasley is our King" badges from anyone trying to get through with one.

When Harry asked, all he got from them in response was, “It isn’t very sporting” and “Cedric wants a fair game”. He couldn't say he was upset to see something being done about the childish things, but it was odd.

He pulled the map stealthily and checked for that odd dot among the mass. It was barely a blip on the opposite door. He raced over to find Tom and one of the Hufflepuff beaters on either side of the door chucking badges into a nearly full basket.

“Harry, there you are!” That was all the warning he got before he got a face full of Cho’s straight black hair.

He returned her hug, far stiffer than he meant, as Hermione and Ginny’s conversation buzzed through his head, unbidden. Her friend, Marietta Edgecombe, was not helping matters. She was hovering over Cho’s shoulder, looking between them and Tom with subtle little flicks of her eyes like she was searching for something.

“I wanted to come and wish you luck before the match,” Cho was saying as she looked adoringly up at him.

He tried to shake the thought and return her smile. “Thanks, Cho.”

“Not that you’ll need it, of course.” She punctuated this by kissing him. Harry tried to relax, but he was all too aware of Tom and the line of people just over his shoulder.

She pulled back, beaming at him. “I better grab a seat. Come on, Mary.”

They turned to the entrance and, casual as anything, like she hadn’t even seen him, Cho said, “Oh, hi, Cedric.”

He gave her a little nod of the head as he waved a young Gryffindor through without fanfare. He glanced from her to Harry and back with a lazy disinterest and said, “I’m glad you’ve moved on to someone worthy of you.” Though the words should have been complimentary, it still somehow sounded like an insult.

Cho clearly took it as such, her expression souring a moment before she gathered herself again. She didn’t get the chance to speak though as a sneering voice behind them said, “Sweet as this meeting of the Seekers and scorned lovers is, the rest of us would like to actually watch the match. Get out of the way.”

Draco Malfoy and a gang of grinning Slytherins had muscled their way up the line, all proudly sporting badges. Between Tom’s chill indifference and Malfoy’s tone, Cho was beginning to look dangerous, her eyes narrowed. Her friend had grabbed her arm though and was bodily dragging her through to the stands.

“You’re not getting through with those.” Tom held out a hand to the Slytherins.

Malfoy sneered down at it. “We’re doing you a favor, Diggory. Your team of Mudbloods and morons needs all the help it can get.”

This was met with chuckles from his entourage and disgusted looks from several of the students waiting in line behind them.

Tom’s voice was carefully neutral as he said only, “My team’s abilities will speak for themselves when we win the Quidditch Cup.”

At this, they Slytherins guffawed, hooting and shrieking with laughter.

“That spell must have really knocked your head loose,” Malfoy said through his own cruel laughter, “Hufflepuff never wins the Cup.”

Tom was clearly losing patience. His wand flashed through the air as he said, “ _Accio_.”

The badges did nothing and Malfoy drew himself up proud. “That won’t work on these. I–”

He never got any further. Tom's Cedric mask dropped a moment as he flicked his wand again and, with a wordless spell, ripped the badges from robes all down the line in an unnatural wind. As they flew into the air, they began to burn with an emerald green flame and then they were nothing but ash settling in the grass.

“Enjoy the match,” Tom said, ushering them through.

Malfoy gaped down at the ruined badges. Then he glared up at Tom. “You wait ‘til my father hears about this!”

There was something like a pleasant smile on Tom’s face, but Harry beside him almost found himself taking a step back from the menacing aura radiating off him.

He leaned in closer to Malfoy. “Please, I would like very much to hear from your father.”

For a second, Draco looked scared, taking a half step back into Goyle. He didn’t quite shake it as, with a jerk of his head, he lead his group of hangers-on into the stands, shooting Tom and Harry a dirty look as he passed.

Tom took no notice whatsoever. He glanced over at his teammate, who was looking on in adoration. “We’ve done what we can. Let’s grab the others, we need to get ready.”

The game began and Gryffindor barely had time to react. The large Hufflepuff Chaser, Cadwallader, snatched the Quaffle out of the air and threw it with all of his might down the field. Tamsin Applebee zipped after and caught it in a smooth roll as she hurtled toward Ron.

He was clearly panicked but had at least started drifting toward the right hoop. Katie Bell was gaining on her, determined. Then, the Quaffle was gone from Applebee’s hands and Lee Jordan was announcing, “Maori O’Brien of Hufflepuff scores the first goal of the game within the first minute of play. That has to be some kind of record! That’s 10-0 Hufflepuff. Looks like the Gryffindor team might get a run for its money here.”

Harry’s eyes found the fourth-year girl sailing easily out from beside the left goalpost to high five her teammate. She was new to the team and, from what he’d heard, she had begun the year afraid to go more than a gentle jogging pace on a broom. As the Quaffle entered play once more, it became clear this was no longer the case. She zoomed by everyone and performed moves that were, frankly, dangerous with such ease and grace she might have been slowing time around her.

The rest of the team were certainly not slouching either. Tamsin Applebee had always been competent on the field, but her aerial maneuvering had significantly improved since last Harry had seen her fly. Cadwallader was a tank bearing down on the Gryffindor players and the three of them were a seamless unit, tossing the Quaffle so fast between them it was a red blur.

Their beaters as well might have been one person in two bodies, knocking the Bludgers in the path of the Gryffindors with such precision it almost knocked them off their brooms several times. Fred and George were doing an impressive interception campaign of their own, but, like everything else in this game so far, they were simply trying to play catchup with the machine the Hufflepuff team had become.

Angelina got the Quaffle from them long enough to pass it to Alicia, who just barely got it past their Keeper for the first Gryffindor goal of the game. They were already down twenty points though. Angelina was trying to shout encouragements but it was clear the team was shaken.

Harry caught Tom’s eye and flew closer.

“Can’t curse me so now you’re trying to beat me at Quidditch?”

Tom’s smile had a smug edge. “This mindless sport is clearly something you cherish and–” he cut himself off, expression dropping as his head whipped around. He went rocketing off and Harry, heart in his ears, gave chase. He couldn’t let Tom reach the Snitch.

Then Tom pulled up, taking his broom in slow circles. Harry breathed a little easier, he’d lost it. Harry hadn’t even seen a glimpse of it though.

The game went on in much the same manner for almost an hour. Harry realized after several pulse pounding chases, that Tom had been leading Harry away from the Snitch, letting his team build up points. Harry gritted his teeth.

The Gryffindor Chasers managed to get the Quaffle through the hoops at the Hufflepuff end of the field several more times, but every goal was hard fought while the Hufflepuff Chasers barely seemed to be trying. Ron was less confident than ever, that song echoing through the stands anew with every goal.

The Hufflepuff Keeper, Aaron Zander, signaled to Tom for a timeout. Both teams hit the ground but Zander crossed the divide with purpose. Ron tensed as it became clear who he was coming to talk to.

Zander had a round, boyish face, open and easy to trust. "Hey, Ron Weasley, right?"

Ron's embarrassment and shame were making him mean and all he did in response was cross his arms and glare at the other boy.

Zander was slightly disheartened but rallied with a kind smile as he said, "I was having a lot of trouble at the start of term too. Being a Keeper isn't as easy as it looks," he chuckled but Ron just kept glaring.

With a little breath Zander continued, "But then Cedric gave me some really good advice. He said-"

"I don't care. You can take your advice back to that bloody, stupid, body snatching _thing_ you're calling a captain and shove it up his arse!"

The rest of the team were staring open mouthed at Ron, too stunned to do anything. Harry, however saw Zander's gentle face warp with anger and jumped between them.

Tom was suddenly standing there as well, behind Zander, as though he had materialized. His hand fell heavy on his teammate's shoulder as Zander's hands balled into fists.

"That's enough. Let's get back to the game."

Zander rounded on his captain, pointing an accusing finger at Ron. "But he-”

“Aaron,” Tom's voice was quiet but there was still such power to it that Zander immediately shut his mouth and looked away. "You were trying to do a good thing and he's too stubborn to accept it. Let it go."

Zander nodded, jaw tight, and, with one last heated glare at Ron, turned and marched off back to his team.

Tom was only a few steps behind but stopped as Ron called, reckless and aggressive, "So you have your team under the Imperius Curse too, just like the Diggorys?"

There was a crack on the air for a second of barely leashed power but Tom did no more than turn and narrow his eyes at Ron. "I'll thank you not to make unfounded accusations."

Angelina clearly exerted a great amount of will waiting for Tom to get out of earshot before she laid into Ron. "What in Merlin's name was that about?! We're already doing badly enough as it is, we don't need a reason for them to bury us. And maybe he _did_ have something helpful to say! Goodness knows we could use a break."

"I can't believe we're being out flown by Hufflepuff; I might never live down the shame." Fred said with a exaggerate sigh and a dramatic hand to his forehead.

"If they keep this up all season, the rest of the house teams won’t stand a chance,” George said, eyeing them as they gathered in a neat huddle on the other side of the field.

"They have gotten very good," Katie agreed.

"Too good," Ron muttered.

Fred scoffed. "And what would you know about it? That was the worst performance I've ever seen in Quidditch."

"None of you are doing that much better! That Bludger almost knocked Angelina off her broom!"

No one on the team objected for a moment but the air was thick. Then Angelina stepped up and said, "Tempers are high right now, but there's no point turning on each other. I've seen some of your best flying out there today. Everyone is doing what they can given the circumstances, but we need a plan.

"Harry, obviously, you're our last chance in this game. You have to catch that Snitch soon. Fred, George, try getting the Bludgers down to our end of the field and use them to keep the other team off our hoops. Ron, you want to beat them more than any of us and I know you're better than this, so go out there and play like no one is watching.”

Half an hour later the game wasn't going well. Zander in particular had taken his skills to a new level and, despite getting the Quaffle several times, the Gryffindor team could not seem to get a goal past him. Ron, on the other hand, was doing worse and they were losing by nearly 150 points.

Harry had to catch the Snitch soon or they would lose not only the game but any hope of winning the cup.

A splash of gold caught his eye as the Chasers raced by. The Snitch was tangled in the end of Alicia's ponytail. She didn’t seem to notice, intent on shoulder checking the Quaffle out of Applebee's hands.

He flew after her but a Bludger cut between them and he was forced to pull up. It knocked her trailing ponytail though and dislodged the struggling Snitch. He dove after it.

Harry’s knees were almost scraping the grass as the Snitch leveled out, but he was so close. Then there was a yellow blur beside him and Tom's arm was stretching out, mere inches away.

By sheer luck, the Snitch dived left just by just enough, the little ball moving away from Tom's hand and toward Harry's palm. He snatched it out of the air with a yell and pulled up just before he hit the goalpost.

As Lee Jordan read out the final score, it settled on Harry that they had lost. A mere ten points and they had lost. If only he’d gotten to it a few seconds sooner… but that didn’t bare thinking about.

The Hufflepuffs landed and immediately fell on each other in a stumbling group hug. Tom was not quite fast enough to evade. As they laughed and hung off him, Tom's face lost its artificial pleasantry, something genuinely soft about it as he patted them each on the back and offered some brief praise or other.

Then, Tom caught Harry staring and the look drained from his face. There was something dark and warning about him as his hand tightened on Caldwell and O’Brien's shoulders and he lead his team back to the changing rooms.

The Gryffindor team was much more sedate. Ron in particular was quiet and distant, his mood tempestuous. Even Angelina's attempt at a rousing speech was lackluster at best. Following Fred's lead, the team simply filed off the pitch, a few praises thrown Harry's way but little else said the rest of the evening.


	11. Chapter 11

The day had been fraught from the start. Harry woke bright and early only to mess with his hair for nearly an hour before Ron dragged him to breakfast still looking much the same as when he’d started.

Upon meeting Cho in the entrance hall, he struggled to find something interesting to say while they languished in painfully awkward silence between inane small talk. He finally pulled Slughorn at random out of his head and they whiled away the walk to the village discussing how potions class was much better with Snape on sabbatical.

As they crossed the streets and entered the luridly decorated café Cho had chosen, Harry tried to come up with something new to say about Quidditch, but it was such a well tread topic between neither had much left to talk about. The silence crept in again, arresting their tongues as their coffees grew cold in their hands. So, Harry suggested a walk.

As far as romantic locations went, the Shrieking Shack was not exactly top of the list, but Harry simply could not stand to be in Madam Puddifoot’s for even one more minute.

They crunched through the snow up to the gate and, for the first time that day, Harry felt as though he could breathe without the need to fill the silence. There was barely even a breeze and Harry found the stillness of the trees soothing.

“It is a bit spooky, isn’t it?”

Harry leaned brazenly against the fence, knowing there were no spirits to anger on the other side.

“Not really. You know, during 3rd year, Sirius–” Harry stopped as a distant scream carried on the chill air. Had he not been standing so close with his head angled just so, he would not have heard it.

Harry turned around and leaned over the fence, straining his ears. “What was that?”

“Don’t be trying to scare me now, Harry,” Cho giggled, coy and girlish. “Not that I could ever be frightened when you’re–”

He waved a hand back at her and hissed, “Shut up a minute.”

It came again, clearer now he knew to listen for it. It was Tom, howling in either anger or terrible pain.

“That was very rude,” Cho was saying, her voice starting to get huffy.

Harry did not have time to explain. “Go get Hermione.”

“Hermione Granger again? You know, _I'm_ your girlfriend, right?”

Harry dearly wanted to say the first thing that came to mind, but he needed her at least happy enough to do what he was asking. Cho was a good witch in her own right, but she didn’t know the real danger Tom posed and Harry had no idea what he might find on the other side of this fence. Hermione would know what to do.

He turned back to her. “Of course, I know that. And you’re brilliant at it. Now, can you please–”

“I don’t think you really believe that or you wouldn’t be asking for another girl,” she snapped.

This argument was already exhausting him. “I’ve told you, she’s just a friend. Now, there’s something more important–”

“More important?” Cho crossed her arms and her chin was a little too high to bode well for a listening mood. “If I had known you were more interested in someone else, I wouldn’t have bothered asking you out.”

That struck a nerve. “You want to talk about being interested in someone else? What about you and Cedric?”

Her eyes became guarded and her spine rigidly defensive. “There’s nothing going on with me and Cedric.”

“Yeah, because _he_ doesn’t want there to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Their voices were getting louder now, everything that had been bubbling under the surface rearing its ugly head.

“I know you only asked me out to make him jealous. That’s why I run into you everywhere he is.”

Cho’s hands were in fists, her glare fierce. “I’m surprised you’ve noticed anything about me with your eyes glued to Hermione Granger. You’d probably be having a lot more fun with her right now.”

“Yeah, I probably would!” Harry didn’t mean to shout but he was getting so sick of this same argument every week.

Cho was shouting now too, livid. “Fine then! I’ll leave you to your new girlfriend, we’re done!” She turned on her heel in a storm of snow and silky black hair.

“Fine, just be sure to tell her to head this way when you see her,” Harry called after.

Cho’s only answer was a furious sort of breath in the back of her throat. Harry couldn’t hope for her sending backup then.

Tom’s scream came again, distant but reverberating through the trees. This time it was only pain. Harry didn’t hesitate. He vaulted the gate and began running.

It took him nearly ten minutes to pin down where the screaming had come from. His heart loud in his ears, he rounded a large tree trunk and found a snowy clearing decimated. There was evidence of some kind of struggle, the snow melted and the Earth beneath scorched, but otherwise the forest was quiet once more.

Harry searched for nearly an hour until his fingers and toes had gone numb, calling through the trees for Tom. He found nothing. There were occasional winding tracks in the snow, about a foot wide, like something had dragged through here and even the occasional stumbling footprint, but they ended not far from the clearing and Harry could follow them no further.

“Harry,” Hermione’s frantic voice cried out, followed by Ron’s. “Harry, mate, where the hell’d you run off to?”

“Over here,” Harry called back. They came running and Hermione skidded on the ice and slammed into him. He barely kept them steady but Hermione did not seem to care at all, hugging him fiercely.

“Where have you been? We’ve been looking for ages! I was so worried.”

Harry coughed his breath back and patted her awkwardly. “I’m fine, Hermione.”

She pulled away, wiping at her cheeks, her expression turning stern. “You can’t just run off on your own like this. It was very irresponsible.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed, staring at the clearing. “Did you do this, Harry?”

“No, I found it that way. I think something happened to Tom. I heard him screaming earlier, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“We saw him leaving Hogsmeade,” Ron said. “He was holding his arm and looked in a bad way, but we didn’t get the chance to find out why. Your ex-girlfriend’s a menace, by the way, Harry.”

“What?”

“Cho ran up to us and started saying a bunch of nonsense about me,” Hermione said with a disgusted wrinkle in her nose. “And then she said she’d left you up by the Shrieking Shack and I knew something was wrong, so we left before she’d finished.”

“That’s not all. She tried to curse Hermione as we were leaving but you should have seen her,” there was a new fear born respect in Ron’s voice. “I didn’t even know it was possible to cast a shield charm and a boil hex in the same breath.” He shook his head in wonderment.

“Serves her right,” Hermione huffed. “Honestly, going around accusing people like that and not bothering to listen to them.”

Harry wanted to go straight up to the castle, but his friends wouldn’t hear of it. He was shivering rather a lot, soaked through to his socks. So, they ducked into the Three Broomsticks. As they nursed their Butterbeers, Harry told them in detail about the disaster of his date with Cho.

"I just can't believe she thinks I'm interested in you." Harry realized a second after the words left his mouth how that must sound. He hurried to say, "Not that you're not interesting, it's just I-"

She waved him off, shaking her head with a laugh. "It's fine, Harry. You're not really my type either."

"You have a type then?" Ron's question was overly nonchalant, a touch of something jumpy in it.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm going to pay for that last round. Then we should probably get back to the castle."

Harry couldn't help but agree, slumped in his seat, his eyes heavy. “I think I’m done with dating for a while.”

“Right, yeah,” Ron muttered absently as he watched Hermione weaving her way through the thinning crowd.

“You okay?”

Ron’s eyes were slow and his expression far away for a few seconds as he turned to look back at Harry. “What? Yeah, I’m... you know, good.”

Harry did not get to ask what that meant as Hermione came back and bustled them back to the castle. He did notice a new attentiveness in Ron’s eyes though as he listened to Hermione. He was standing differently too, like he was trying to look both taller and more casual but the effect just ended up being stiff and awkward.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been more than a week since he’d heard Tom up by the Shrieking Shack and he had only caught brief glimpses of him since, favoring his left side as he made his way to the Hufflepuff table at meals. There were a few rumors that he had come back from Hogsmeade with a nasty bruise wrapping most of his arm on that side, but he hadn't been seen going to Madam Pomfrey. Harry desperately wanted to confront him, but there was no way to do it with Tom's entourage dogging him.

Wanting to distract Harry, Hermione and Ron dragged him down to Hagrid's hut that evening for tea. The Care of Magical Creatures teacher was more than pleased to see them and poured them steaming mugs of tea, talking excitedly about his newest acquisition of Mimsika, a creature that looked like a perfectly innocent, singing rock until you got too close and it opened its eight mouths. Harry could already imagine how many fingers would be lost caring for them.

Harry tuned out the conversation as Hermione, beside a rather green Ron, tried to change the subject. He could just see the edge of the Quidditch pitch from there. A light snow blanketed the stands, making the edges of it seem indistinct against the steel grey sky. There was a pang in his chest.

"Harry," Hagrid asked, dragging him back from his thoughts. "Wha's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said too quickly, yanking his eyes down to his odd mug.

"Don't look like nothing from 'ere."

Hagrid's voice was kind and somehow it drew the words up out of Harry's throat in a rush. "I just wish I knew what Tom was doing!"

"Harry," Hermione started to say but her words drowned out by Hagrid. "Wouldn't mind knowin' that meself. He came round ‘ere the other day, asked bout me wand and all.”

“What?” The three of them stared in shock at the groundskeeper.

“Yeah, wanted to take a crack at fixin’ it or sommat. I told ‘im no offense meant but I wouldn’t rightly want to use the damn thing if he’d gotten hold of it.”

Harry stared dumbfounded. “What’d he do?”

Hagrid shrugged.“Honesly, was expectin’ a bit of a fight, but he just wished me well, said he’d be round if I ever needed, and wandered off.”

Harry had a hundred questions and turned to see the same ones in his friend's eyes.

He and Ron walked into Transfiguration class only a minute before the bell and Harry caught sight of Hermione already seated at a table in front. Lavender Brown was talking to her across the isle but the two stopped as Hermione caught sight of them.

There was a dark look on her face and Harry hesitated to go near, though Ron seemed perfectly eager. Hermione stood up and stormed over to grab Harry's arm without so much as a hello. The bell rang and Professor McGonagall came in, calling for everyone to take a seat and get out their books.

Ron was watching them in some confusion as Hermione sat them resolutely at her table, as far from the other open seats as possible. Harry met Ron’s eyes with a helpless shrug.

“Ron is driving me mad,” Hermione hissed.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Harry said wryly, watching her pull out her book with enough aggression to make the table rattle.

Hermione ignored this. “He won’t shut up about not getting an invite to Slughorn’s stupid party.”

Weary, Harry asked, “Why don’t you just bring him along then?”

Ron had been getting on his nerves as well. He was still bitter that Slughorn had not seen fit to welcome him to his little club. Hermione's ire seemed far outside anything Harry could generate over it though.

“No," she said, resolute and stubborn. "I won’t give in to him being a child. If he wants to go so badly, he can ask me himself.”

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, making the two of them jump, "Professor Flitwick would like a word with you."

Hermione still hadn't returned by the time they began attempting the day's animal transfiguration. Despite Professor McGonagall's explicit instructions to stay focused or face dire consequence, Ron kept glancing at the door. When Hermione finally did walk in, his partial creature started to mutate and sprayed putrid slime all over the walls.

Harry stayed after class to help him clean up and Professor McGonagall kept them both an extra few minutes after to lecture them about taking their upcoming OWLs seriously.

So it was that when they came upon the entrance hall at the height of the lunch hour, there were only two other people there. At first, neither of them took much notice, but that long, red hair was unmistakable. Harry felt Ron stiffen beside him before he’d fully taken in the Hufflepuff she was talking to, his head bent close to hers.

“What are you doing with my sister,” Ron demanded, shoving his way between the two and looking ready to throw a punch, wand still in his bag.

Tom put on Cedric’s most charming smile as he straightened and said, “We bumped into each other and were having a little chat.”

Nearly foaming at the mouth, Ron shouted, “If you ever come near her again, you slimey–” but Ginny pulled her brother back and said, with a roll of her eyes, “Please, Ron, as though I’d fall for that trick twice.”

Then, she turned to the older boy and said, cool as anything, “It was nice talking to you, Tom, really, but if you don’t leave me alone, I will do far worse than anything my dear brother here can threaten. So, no, thank you, I don’t.” With a deceptively sweet smile, she waved and walked away, leaving all three boys stunned in her wake.

“Bloody hell, she’s been hanging round Fred too much,” Ron muttered with a shiver.

Tom was watching her go with a frown slowly forming on his brow. He looked so out of his depth. When their eyes finally met, Harry couldn’t help but say, with a modest shrug, “She actually is pretty dangerous these days. You probably wouldn’t see it coming.”

Tom looked genuinely offended by that and something about it made Harry laugh, which didn’t help. Then it occurred to Harry that the Entrance Hall was deserted but for the three of them and this was the chance to ask Tom about Hogsmeade. He still looked a bit off, like he was recovering from a bad flu, and there was a yellowing bruise barely visible under his sleeve.

Harry opened his mouth to demand answers to the questions that had been burning holes in his head, but at that second, Aaron Zander, the Hufflepuff Keeper, raced out from the Great Hall.

"Cedric, there you are! You forgot this." He was holding out a seventh year transfiguration book to Tom, but his eyes were fixed on Ron and Harry, a cold, steely glare leveled at them.

Intent on avoiding the inevitable disaster brewing as Ron began to regain his ire, Harry tugged on Ron’s robes and began marching him through the doors.

“I’ve got my eye on you, snake face,” Ron called over his shoulder just as the noise of the Great Hall swallowed the words.

Ron fell into the seat beside Hermione, directly across from Ginny, and demanded, “What did he want?”

Harry took Hermione’s other side, leaning closer to hear Ginny clearly over the din. She was not willing to indulge her brother’s overprotectiveness though.

“It wasn’t anything. You don’t have to worry about it, Ronald.”

“Like hell I don’t,” Ron said, stabbing into the nearest dish of sliced pork with the serving fork as though it had done him a personal wrong. “Who knows what that evil bastard could have planned?”

“Who are we talking about,” Hermione asked, frowning between the Weasley siblings.

“Tom Riddle,” Ginny supplied, as though she were doing nothing more dramatic than pointing out the fake sky overhead was blue.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath and began bristling, though only half as much as Ron. “Ron’s right to be worried, Ginny. He’s dangerous.”

“I know that better than most, but,” Ginny trailed off, catching Harry’s eye.

He was surprised to see a strain of his own thoughts reflected in her eyes. Tom could be more than dangerous, he was still Voldemort after all, but he was not the same, not every action had a purpose, not every word held something sinister.

Harry leaned a little closer over the marmalade. “What did he want anyway?”

“He asked if I needed anything and offered to talk about my experience with the diary.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances with Harry but while he shared their confusion, he could not return the suspicion and worry growing in their eyes with as much honesty.

The week after, as they left Hermione to her own devices in the library, Harry and Ron spotted Fred and George giving Tom a friendly wave as he returned to Cedric's friends, all of whom were eyeing the Weasleys with some suspicion. Instantly, they enveloped Tom in a protective insulation, as though they could keep him from the mischief that had been plaguing their house all year.

Ron was up in our arms. "Oi! Not you two as well."

The twins glanced up from their whispered conversation to see their brother storming angrily towards them. They stowed whatever they'd been holding in the pockets of their robes.

"What's got ickle Ronniekins all worked up," Fred asked in a simpering voice.

"Well, Fred, I think he might be jealous of our new favorite ex-dark lord," George said.

Fred exaggerated his consternation and shock, throwing a hand over his chest. "Surely not our brother!"

"Oh, come off it," Ron snapped at them. "What the hell are you talking to _him_ for?"

"Not that it's any of your business, dearest little brother, but he's our new consultant."

"Consultant? For your joke shop," Harry asked George while Fred smiled evilly at his brother.

George leaned in closer to speak only to Harry as he said, "Well, it started off as a laugh actually. We were going to play on his whole sweet Cedric act and get him to try some of our experimental merchandise. Next thing we know, he’s waving his wand over it and telling us all of the horrible side effects we didn't intend to put in. Then he's saying to try this and that and see if it helps. We were sure he was just trying poisoning people with it or something but so far it's all worked.”

"He's been saving us a real handful of gold, I tell you what," Fred said over his shoulder, ignoring a fuming Ron.

"And how _do_ you know he's not just trying to poison everyone," Ron asked in a snap of a voice.

"What do you take us for," Fred asked, offended.

"Don't you worry your head about it, Ron, we've been doing our research and nothing he's been suggesting is all that dangerous. We asked Slughorn about it too and he reckons it’s all above board.”

“He even told us to come to him with any new merchandise if we still weren’t sure it would work right. Decent bloke that one, even if he is a bit full of himself.”

Harry was no longer paying attention to the Weasley boys. He stared after the gaggle of Hufflepuffs as their shoes disappeared around the corner. Something wasn't adding up. Hagrid, Ginny, and even the twins, Tom was offering to help an awful lot of people close to Harry. Was he just trying to gain their trust for some plot? Use them against Harry somehow? Or was this something else entirely? He couldn't say, not with the information he had anyway.

Perhaps it was time to break out the cloak.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry woke suddenly and completely. He rolled over and looked out at the dark sky through the window. It was a beautiful, cloudless night, the stars shining and the grounds glowing softly under the crescent moon. He glanced at his watch, three in the morning. He pulled out the map on habit.

The usual crowd were up at that hour: teachers on patrol, Madam Pomfrey checking on a patient, a few students pacing their common rooms. There was only one name out of place and it jumped out at Harry. It was that strange name that wavered between Cedric and Tom, Riddle and Diggory.

He was out of bed and grabbing clothes before he had even considered it, but there was no way he was going to sleep now, not without knowing what Tom was doing.

Between the map and the cloak, it was easy enough to avoid the teachers and he only had one near-miss with Mrs. Norris as he neared the unused classroom. He half expected to find Tom cackling wickedly over some potion or perhaps torturing a small animal, but he was doing nothing more sinister than staring down onto the grounds several stories below.

Harry crept closer, trying to see what Tom was looking at down there. The room was unusually chilly and it took Harry a moment to realize there was a pane missing from one of the windows at the back of the classroom. Focused on the question of why Tom was in this cold room in the middle of the night, Harry knocked into a desk.

Tom did not look away from the window or show any sign of surprise at all. “Didn't Dumbledore ever teach you it's rude to creep up unseen, Harry?”

Harry checked the cloak was still covering all of him. It was. “How did you know it was me?”

Something of a sardonic smile flitted across Tom’s lip for a moment. “There are only two people in Hogwarts I can imagine trying so hard to observe my comings and goings in the middle of the night. The other would not bother to hide under a cloak.”

Harry checked the map one last time to see that there was no one in that particular part of the castle with them before he removed his cloak.

“What are you doing,” Harry asked, coming as close as he dared to the window.

Whatever Tom was watching reached the base of the wall and he finally looked to Harry. There was something empty in those grey eyes that set Harry on edge. “I’m glad you’re here, actually. I’ve been considering a great many things recently and I feel I owe you an apology. I should not have tried to curse you.”

That was the last thing Harry expected to hear from him and he simply stared, feeling his mouth fall open.

Tom’s eyes sharped a touch as he said, “I want this clear; I'm not asking for your forgiveness, I’ll never earn it and frankly I don’t want it, but do know you have nothing to fear from me any longer.”

Harry’s words were slow coming, like he was waiting for the punchline, “Not that I’m upset, but why?”

Tom drew in a heavy sigh that was almost amusement and muttered, “Because I have feared and hated you for so long and I am so tired.”

He looked it too. Every line of his body was heavy with something that was not entirely physical. He was suddenly ghostly in the moonlight, ready to float away at any second.

A worry he could not fully pin down was churning in Harry’s gut. "Are you alright, Tom?"

A sardonic little smile lifted the edge of Tom’s lips and then dropped again. He kept talking as though Harry had said nothing, “I have realized your mother's protection was not all that saved you from me all these years. I myself placed a protection upon you and, in doing so, seeded my own demise."

Tom reached out his hand. For a moment, it seemed almost to be those pale, long fingers once more. Harry tensed but that hand was Cedric’s again in a blink, Quidditch calluses still rough but his touch soft and warm as Tom brushed back Harry’s hair. He was suddenly very aware the shape of his scar under Tom's eyes.

Then something large and heavy hit the floor of the classroom near the missing window pane. Harry barely took in the massive creature rearing to strike before he pushed Tom back and threw himself out of the way.

He fumbled for his wand but it was trapped in the folds of his robes. The snake gathering itself for yet another strike. A chair tangled his legs as he scrambled back. It lunged again. He fell over, his arm going up to protect his face.

Nothing happened. There was no pain, no massive fangs piercing through him.

He cracked his eyes open. Its jaws were snapping viciously mere inches from his hand. It looked as though somebody had wrapped an invisible collar around its neck and was pulling back on it.

Then he heard a furious hissing and glanced over the snake's coils to see Tom, his arm shaking as he held onto his wand. The snake turned its head toward him and he spat something as though in reply.

Reluctant, it shrunk away from Harry and slithered its great body up Tom's leg and around his shoulders, half of its twelve-foot length still upon the floor. It was hissing softly at his ear and, as the moonlight glittered off its scales, Harry realized he knew the snake, Nagini.

Tom nodded, Parseltongue now a smooth sound off his tongue from which Harry could not parse any meaning. He was suddenly much more forgiving of Justin’s panic second year; the language of snakes was unsettling to the untrained ear.

Harry picked himself up very slowly, Nagini watching his every movement.

Tom’s attention shifted to him as well and his head dropped in a show of shame though Harry was not sure how genuine. “You’ll have to forgive her. She is much less agreeable these days.”

Harry locked eyes with the snake and, while she was familiar, there was something missing. Harry had a sudden sneaking suspicion. “Nagini isn’t your Horcrux anymore, is she?”

Tom’s eye cut back to him and even the snake stopped her shifting as the air in the room seemed to thin. Then he chuckled. “Of course you’d know. Why am I ever surprised anymore? Yes. Like you, she is no longer a vessel for my soul.”

Harry’s mind was racing. He could hardly believe his ears; Tom had regained another piece of his soul. “That’s what happened in Hogsmeade then?”

“That happened at the start of term and I was so sure at the time it was your fault somehow. As though you could manipulate my Nagini, my most loyal companion, into harming me.” Tom scoffed.

Now he had the chance to speak to ask, Harry had to know. “Then what did happen in Hogsmeade?”

Tom’s answer caught him off guard, a hint of unsteadiness in his voice, “We had a difference of opinion as to how she ought to live out her last days.”

Nagini hissed something else to Tom and nuzzled under his chin. His face went through several complicated, pained emotions and settled back on exhaustion. Harry wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but her scales suddenly did seem less lustrous somehow, her movements heavier.

At a loss, Harry had nothing of substance to say but, “I’m sorry, Tom.”

A sardonic little smile lifted the edge of Tom’s lips and then dropped again. "My companions of old abandoned me one by one, by choice or fate, while I am robbed of self and of purpose. Yet even after all this, I am alive.” He went quiet to run a hand along her smooth head before he looked back at Harry with those empty, grey eyes and said, “Tell me, Harry Potter, the one I chose as my downfall, what would you do in a moment like this?"

Feeling distinctly out of his depth, Harry shrugged. “Don't know. Figure it out as I go, I suppose. It's not like you don't have anyone and there's always some good to be done for them.”

Tom nodded absently, deep in his own thoughts. His wand came up beside him and began twirling absently in the air as he murmured a soft spell.

The snake's eyes drooped closed, the long line of muscle relaxing utterly. Her body began to levitate into the air then, high over Tom's head, ripples on the air beginning to enclose her. Then she was in a ball of fragmented light, radiating warmth that danced over Harry's skin even as he stood so far under it. With one final spell and a downward sweep of his wand, the snake and her cage vanished.

"We should return to bed before we're caught. Classes begin early tomorrow.” Tom's voice was brusque as he swept past Harry toward the door.

Harry could not have said why but he almost reached out, as though he were going to pull Tom back from some edge. He did not but he had the distinct feeling of a clock ticking down somewhere.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 6/25/2020

Slughorn's Christmas party was an odd affair.

They’d had to leave early in order to beat Fred and George out of Gryffindor Tower. Though she said nothing, Harry wondered if Ginny had overheard Fred and George promising to hex her date, some forgettable Ravenclaw her brothers did not like on principle, or if she simply knew them well enough to expect it.

Ron, they left to his grumbling by the common room fire, neither he nor Hermione caving to ask the other to the party. While Harry had had enough of his friends making themselves needlessly miserable, he was relieved to have been saved the trouble of finding a date.

Hermione had reasoned that it would be much more fun to go together as friends being that neither of them had anyone asking with whom they wanted to go. Ron’s ears had gone red at that and he hadn’t said a word to Hermione for almost a full day.

So, they entered the elaborately decorated room with perfect punctuality to find only a few other students there idly munching off floating trays of food amid Slughorn's other guests. They found a corner from which to watch the proceedings as students began to trickle into the room.

Fred and George entered fashionably late with great fanfare, two Catherine wheels and a rocket flying into the room in a colorful and dangerous display. The students nearest ducked but the ones further back stared in awe. Slughorn clapped and whooped, delighted, as the fireworks spun between the decorations. Then the rocket found the balcony door and blasted off over the grounds, the Catherine wheels in hot pursuit.

Hermione was giving them a disapproving scowl as Slughorn shook their hands, beaming and talking in a quick babble. While Slughorn rushed off to tend to the spilled food and other wreckage the fireworks had wrought, the twins sauntered over looking particularly pleased with themselves, as though Hermione’s expression were one of admiration.

“That was horribly irresponsible of you,” Hermione started in as soon as they were in earshot. “Someone could have gotten hurt!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione,” George said, waving aside her concern.

“Yeah, do you really think we’d let something dangerous loose just to liven up a party,” asked Fred, scandalized.

“You two take everything too far. I can’t believe Professor Slughorn allowed this,” Hermione fumed.

“Well, he did, so drop it and enjoy the party.” Fred gave her a smug grin.

“Speaking of livening things up,” George said, drawing everyone’s attention before Hermione could argue the point.

Harry heard Cedric Diggory’s laugh before he had finished tracing George’s eyeline. It had been a long time since Harry had been near Tom when he was pretending to be Cedric and it reminded him of looking at an image through warped glass.

Cedric had always radiated the easy charm of someone who wasn’t aware how handsome he was and, while Tom Riddle had also been remarkably charming in his youth, there just was something too calculated about Tom's impersonation of Cedric that Harry found unsettling. The whole thing was too rehearsed, every smile just a little too perfect, every sweet word lacking just a touch in sincerity.

No one else seemed to notice. A little group of hangers-on were avidly following his every word, laughing more than his comment had surely warranted. They reminded Harry of flowers, turning towards their little sun.

"I can only imagine what Ron would say right now," Ginny said with a shake of her head.

"Something about a party crasher wearing 'a pretty, Diggory shaped skin suit'," George said with a heavy sigh, quoting one of Ron's favorite insults and shaking his head. They were all well and truly sick of his grumblings by now.

“That's certainly an image,” the Ravenclaw sulking beside Ginny scoffed.

Fred rounded on him, distinctly unfriendly, as though the boy were something he’d found rotting under a park bench. “No one asked _you_.”

Ginny stepped between her date and her brother with a glare that evoked her mother to a T.

Harry tuned out the brewing fight and found his eyes moving back toward where he'd last seen Tom. None of the people who have been talking to him before had moved but he was nowhere to be seen. Harry's eyes flashed over the faces in the crowd and saw nothing of him. Then Harry caught the tail edge of Cedric's dress robes going out onto the balcony.

He disengaged from his friends, whos' voices were becoming more heated, and followed. Tom was leaning on the railing, staring up at the stars over the sparkling, snow covered grounds. The rocket let off an impressive bang from where it was circling the Astronomy Tower, but he did not so much as twitch.

“Enjoying the party then, Cedric?” He put a touch of irony into the name and found it tasted sour on his tongue.

Turning to see who had joined him, Tom met Harry's eyes and then glanced over his shoulder, scanning the balcony. Something in his persona dropped when he found Harry alone, his shoulders relaxing somewhat.

“Slughorn's parties have not changed much since my days at Hogwarts. But I do grow weary of being Cedric Diggory for everyone. You need not–”

“There you are,” Slughorn’s triumphant voice boomed across the balcony as the man, caught in the draperies and clearly more than a bit inebriated, fought his way toward them. “The two Hogwarts champions, once enemies and rivals, now friends, heartwarming indeed.”

“Good evening, Professor.” Tom said, something a bit too neutral in his polite smile. “Thank you for the invitation, I’ve been enjoying myself.”

“Bah! Don’t give me that, young man,” he waggled his finger in Tom’s direction. “I know you’ve been avoiding me all night. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Of course, Professor, but I was just speaking with Harry here and I would hate to leave him out with such a personal conversation.” It was a rather smooth dodge and had Slughorn been a bit less tipsy or stubborn, it might have worked.

As it was, “Nonsense!” Slughorn threw an arm around Harry. “As a fellow champion, you must find it unfair as well, Harry. You to have had your winnings since the end of the tournament but for Cedric not to be allowed near his own until graduation? It’s unseemly.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry agreed, uncertain. He looked to Tom for some clue.

Still unruffled, Tom said, neutral, “It’s not so unreasonable a timeframe and that money did belong to a very different Cedric.”

“Now, see here, young man. You might not remember being who you once were, but you’ve still got a good head upon your shoulders, certainly enough to handle it. Now, I have an old student on the board of directors with whom I still have tea. We can go over Dumbledore’s head here. I really think you ought to–”

“Professor Slughorn!” Someone was calling through the party and the man himself went rigid. Tom was clearly not the only one avoiding someone at this party.

He gave them a sheepish grin. “I must go tend to the hors d'oeuvres. We’re not done with this discussion though, mark my words.”

Harry waited until Slughorn was well out of earshot before turning to Tom. “You still haven’t gotten your Triwizard winnings then?”

“It’s the last of Dumbledore’s little carrots on a stick. No wand until term starts, no winnings until graduation. But, that fool forgets I have grown used to waiting, a year is no time at all.” The disaffected tone was familiar but something about it still rang hollow.

“What are you going to do with it anyway,” Harry asked, curious despite the automatic edge of wariness in his tone.

Feeling dirty even glancing at his own winnings, Harry had handed the gold to Fred and George as a start on their joke shop, but he could imagine a hundred terrible ways a newly corporeal Dark Lord could use that kind of money.

Tom, however, was quiet for a long moment as he contemplated the stars again, paying no mind to the Catherine wheel flying past. There was that same emptiness in his eyes as the other night when he'd asked Harry what to do with his new life.

An edge of concern growing, Harry almost opened his mouth to speak, but, abruptly and without answering, Tom stood upright and straightened his dress robes. “I should return to the party as well. Good evening.”


	15. Chapter 15

The final week of classes before the Christmas holidays was torture. The teachers were as eager to leave as they were, but that didn’t stop them giving them loads of homework, still on the warpath about OWLs.

So, it was a wonderful surprise when, on a bright and snowy Tuesday, the Gryffindor fifth years were told that Herbology had been cancelled. Apparently, a particularly jumpy student had been grabbed by the Venomous Tentacular and shot a huge hole through much of the greenhouse roof. Professor Sprout was still in the delicate process of unfreezing several plants and would not accept help. Neville was the only person upset about not having to trudge out in the nearly waist high snow.

With the afternoon free, Harry, Hermione, and Ron found a table in the common room to get working on their Transfiguration essay. However, it did not take more than a few seconds for his two friends to begin their standoff anew. They weren’t fighting exactly, though Harry did not know what else to call it. Ever since Slughorn’s party, they had been overly polite to each other but somehow there was still a note of hostility under all of it that set Harry’s teeth on edge.

He couldn’t take even an hour more of it. Not even bothering to offer an excuse, he dropped his books upstairs and left out the portrait hole. The lawn was blindingly bright through the windows so Harry kept to the inner passages as he wandered aimlessly.

He was about to turn a corner near the History of Magic classroom when he heard someone crying. He slowed his steps, wondering what to do when a tearful girl’s voice hiccupped in surprise, “Oh, Cedric. Um, hi.”

Harry’s hand immediately flew into his robes and he drew out the invisibility cloak he had taken to carrying with him everywhere. Hand on his wand, he crept to the join in the wall and pressed his back to the stone, giving himself a clear view of both corridors.

The girl in Ravenclaw robes, not much older than Harry, was sitting against the wall, knees up so her thin, sickly frame was even smaller. Tom had stopped near her with his back to Harry.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m just being silly,” she said, clearly trying to laugh it off, but her voice was still shaking as she wiped fresh tears off her cheeks. “I should have just given Professor Binns my pardon note for the day and left, but I just couldn’t do it with everyone looking at me.”

Much to Harry’s surprise, Tom settled against the wall beside her and conjured a tissue from the end of his wand. She mumbled her thanks and began cleaning her face, embarrassed and not a little ashamed.

“Did you,” Tom hesitated, almost like he didn’t know how to say it, “lose someone, in the war?”

She nodded, balling the tissue in her hand and curling her arms over her knees. “I lost a lot of things then. My uncle and mother were killed and my father and I…” She lifted the edge of her robe and Harry just caught a glimpse of an angry, pulsing curse scar on her ankle that disappeared up her leg. “I don’t remember much, I was only a couple years old, but I’ll never forget how much it hurt. We barely got out.”

“Is your father,” Tom started to ask, softly, but he let the question linger.

“I guess you don’t remember, he died the year after I got into Hogwarts.” She smiled sadly at him. “You were so kind to me then. I don’t know if you know this, but you saved my life that day by the lake. I’ll never forget what you said.”

Harry could not see Tom’s face as he tilted it down to her leg and asked, “Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes, but Madam Pomfrey gave me a really good potion for it last year. She said Professor Snape had been working on it for ages. It gives me the hiccups on Wednesdays but I can walk without help most of the time now.”

Tom shifted a bit closer and hovered a hand on her ankle. “Do you mind if I try something?”

“I guess you can’t really make it worse,” she gave a nervous giggle and a shrug, her cheeks a bit red.

“Don’t move.”

Tom gently rolled back the fabric to her knee and pulled out his wand. The curse scar was horrible to look on, an angry, pulsing red, like there were snakes writhing under the skin.

Tom tapped his wand to it and recited a spell in a language Harry did not recognize. It was a long and wandering spell that brought forth pale blue ribbons of light. They dove in and out of her scar like jets of water, the display mesmerizing. Then they began to turn a darker color, their movements uncoordinated and sluggish. Harry had to fight against the sudden urge to be sick.

Tom stood slowly, using his wand and free hand to draw the sickly ribbons up and out of her skin. They twisted in the air, like they were trying to form a shape and he threw his wand hand outward. The thing he’d created coalesced into a twisting, formless monster on the stone floor. It was still connected to her leg by a thin string of dark blue. She stared, frozen and open mouthed.

Tom pointed his wand at her. “ _Protego._ ” A shimmering field surrounded all but her leg.

He took up a dueling stance and, after a careful breath, began pelting the monstrous thing with magic. It made a strange hissing shriek and rushed at him. He pivoted and did not let up, throwing spell after spell at the pulsating form. Harry could see the cold, calculated concentration on his face now.

The monster curled into itself under the weight of the onslaught. Tom took a dangerous step into the wispy edges and stabbed his wand into it, center mass. His jaw clenched and his brow twisted in pain but he did not let up, reciting an incantation so fast the individual sounds blended into each other. Both Harry and the girl held their breath as he finished. Then Tom drew his wand out with a furious grunt and the monster exploded in a brilliant flash of yellow.

Harry blinked spots from his eyes in time to see Tom regain his wobbly legs and slam his fist against the wall.

“The wand performed exceptionally yet it didn’t work,” he snarled through gritted teeth, glaring down at her leg. There was still a subtle movement under the skin and a faint redness that followed, but it was not the horrific, evil thing it had been.

The girl clearly didn’t agree with him. Her smile was growing as she levered herself up and stared down at her leg, testing it with giddy excitement. “I feel amazing! It barely even aches. How did you do that?”

Something about that lessened the tension in his shoulders. “The Romanian wizards have a particularly excellent medicinal magic skillset for dealing with curses. It seemed worth the attempt.”

She took a step on her scarred leg with little difficulty and threw her arms around him. She was sobbing again, tears of joy, as she hugged him. “I can never thank you enough, Cedric!”

He was stiff and pulled away quickly, eyes on the wall. “I only ask that you not tell anyone of this.”

“I’ll not breathe a word,” she swore vehemently.

There were tears streaming freely from her eyes even as she beamed at him. He turned his head away and Harry could not see the look on his face, though the droop in his shoulders seemed to suggest at exhaustion.

“The spell is affected to certain seasonal changes, so it may still hurt from time to time.”

“I really don’t mind at all,” she laughed, wiping tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe.

Tom nodded and departed too quickly for her to call him back. She stared after him for a long moment even as he turned the corner of the next corridor and disappeared.

Harry could not have said why exactly, but he had a bad feeling about leaving Tom alone right now.

He followed a corridor behind, pulling the map out every now and again to check he wasn’t going the wrong way. Tom clearly had a destination in mind, though he wasn’t going toward his common room or one of the classrooms. When Harry finally caught up with him, the once Dark Lord was pacing in front of a dead end.

“Are you lost, Tom,” Harry asked pulling the cloak off as he approached.

Tom glanced up but his eyes slid past, deep in thought. Harry almost jumped out of his skin when a door appeared in the once blank wall behind him.

Tom was looking at him now, something calculated about the expression. “I suppose it’s fitting you’re here.”

He opened the door in clear invitation. Harry hesitated. Several voices, the most distinct sounding like Hermione and Sirius, were telling him to get out of there; the map had shown nothing here and no one knew where he was or who with. However, the pull of curiosity proved too strong in the end.

The room on the other side of the door took his breath away, a massive cavern that surely could not have fit inside the castle, piled high with junk. His eyes flitted over broken and stained objects, not settling anywhere for longer than a moment.

“This is the Room of Requirement,” Tom said, shutting the door behind him.

Harry shot him a quizzical look. “The what?”

“It is a room that changes to grant the user a space for whatever they have need. In this case, a place to hide something.” Tom brushed by him and let his hand drift over the piles of debris as he took the leftmost corridor.

Harry followed a step behind, thinking. Then it dawned on him and he asked in a rush, “Wait a minute, Dumbledore said, when you were applying to be a teacher here, did you really?”

“Leave a horcrux? Yes. The fool doesn’t know this room exists, not that it would help him if he did. I knew it would be safe here.”

“You know where it is then?” Harry’s incredulity came through in his voice. Surely no one could remember, in all this mess, where anything was, let alone something placed so long ago.

“I,” Tom started, something odd and hushed about his voice. Instead of completing the thought, he sped up so Harry had to jog to keep up with him. This went on for several minutes and Harry was almost certain they were lost. He tried to keep track of the door in his mind, but the piles of contraband seemed to sway and shift whenever he took his eyes away from them, giving the place an unsettling feeling of unreality, untethered by something as mundane as space, even in the loose sense wizards knew it.

Harry nearly ran into Tom as he slowed, eyes rivetted on a table where sat a tarnished tiara.

It was unremarkable in this world of strange objects, but Harry still felt he would have taken note of it, even distantly, had he come across it on his own. He would not have guessed it was what they were here for though.

Tom stared at it a long moment, looking so lost, almost as though he wanted to reach out and touch it.

“It hurts all the time,” Tom finally murmured, numb. “I was so scared of dying, I didn’t understand.”

A suspicion was prickling at the back of Harry’s mind, but he pushed it aside. It couldn’t be. “Understand what?”

Tom turned his eyes to meet Harry’s. They were so empty, so utterly lifeless in that moment. Harry shivered.

“I walked by Professor Binns’s class just now and he was talking about the war, _my_ war. The one I always thought was doing such great things, changing the world, but so many dead, so many families torn apart, so much destruction. And for what?” There was something like a ragged chuckle that forced its way out of his throat. “It didn’t even work. I wanted to be the greatest dark wizard of all time, to live forever. Now I’m a half dead monster and Lord Voldemort goes down in history as a joke, killed by a child who could barely walk."

Tom was glaring at Harry’s scar, just visible through a curtain of black hair. His next words were not full of anger though, the emotion seeming to have drained from him. "My only legacy is a whole generation of Hogwarts students permanently scarred and missing family because of what _I_ made happen.”

They were both quiet for a long moment before Harry asked, “Is that why you tried to heal that girl?”

Tom’s eyes fell to the floor. “That curse was Dolohov’s favorite spell. I taught it to him. He rarely left survivors and those who escaped didn’t live long. She had another painful decade at most and now I’ve bought her, perhaps, two more." Tom's fist clenched and there was the anger Harry had expected in his words, but it was not directed outward, "The remnants of Lord Voldemort, too weak to save even one stupid little girl. What a joke.”

Abject misery twisted his expression and the anger could not stay, though he clearly preferred it. His hand clenching at his chest again as it had in the chamber and he began curling around his middle.

Harry reached out on reflex just as Tom's legs gave out on him with a pained cry. He couldn’t hold them both up so he took them to the floor gently, Tom’s body across his knees. Tom clenched his other hand in Harry’s robes and held on like it was all that was keeping the world together.

His eyes rose to the unobtrusive, silver glint just barely visible over the lip of the table. “Look at it, the Diadem of Ravenclaw, a relic of Hogwarts history, a lost treasure, and I twisted it into _this_. I did so many terrible things to get it, the best of which was tricking a sad, lonely ghost into telling me where it was hidden. You can’t even imagine the horror I inflicted upon it then.”

Tom flinched, curling against Harry, pain and fury warring on his face a moment. Just as Harry was beginning to wonder what he should do, Tom spoke, his voice limp and lifeless, "Does it always hurt this much? Caring?"

For some reason, that startled a laugh out of Harry. "I think that might just be you, Tom."

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched up for a second, but it didn’t feel like enough, nothing he could think to say did. Harry felt rather out of his depth here. Tom should be talking to some kind of specialist, not a teenage boy with only the vaguest idea how to properly comfort someone. He tried to think what Hermione would say.

Tom saved him the trouble, the rushed, earnest words catching him entirely off guard, "I'm sorry. For everything I've done to you, for everyone you've lost, I'm sorry."

Harry simply stared at him a moment in shock. Tom Riddle was the last person he would ever have expected to hear say those words, certainly not with such sincerity. Then, he realized he hadn't needed to hear them, not for a long time.

"I forgive you."

Cedric’s eyes, going wide in disbelief, flashed up to Harry, searching for some disingenuous note but there was nothing to find.

Then his expression twisted again but this time it was with pain, an agony so deep it ripped itself from his throat and cleaved through the air. The scream pounded in Harry’s eardrums but he clutched Tom to his chest like he could take some of it for himself.

It seemed to last forever, though it couldn't have been more than a moment, before Tom fell silent, unconscious. The Diadem whispered softly. Then there was a series of little pops and finally a crack as the spells Voldemort had placed on it broke and the delicate artifact split in two.


End file.
